


Worthy and True

by ericajanebarry



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:32:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 79,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6545038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ericajanebarry/pseuds/ericajanebarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isobel and Richard in the months following Matthew's death. Beauty from ashes. S4 AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine. Downton Abbey and its brilliant cast of characters are the brainchild of Julian Fellowes.

I know the truth is right outside  
But for the moment it's best denied  
I don't want anything to change

I can feel you fading  
But until you're gone  
I'm taking all the time I can borrow  
The getting over is waiting  
But I won't move on  
And I'm gonna wanna feel the same tomorrow

And I don't want anything to do  
With what comes after you  
I don't want anything to change  
I don't want anything to change  
I don't want anything to change

It was approaching midnight when Richard arrived home, exhausted. First there had been an accident at one of the farms. A team of young farmhands had been plowing the fields for the planting of the fallow crop of winter wheat. The rear axle on one of the tractors had broken, causing injury to several young farmhands. The driver had sustained a concussion and a broken arm, one plowman a broken leg and another a dislocated shoulder. Then an expectant mother had called for him with what she believed to be labor pains but, alas, it was a false alarm.

He had originally planned to meet Isobel for dinner at the Abbey after she returned from her afternoon at the women's center in York. But when he knew he would be detained he sent word to her, knowing she would want to help and insisting she stay put. The gloom at the big house was just beginning to lift following Matthew's death. The relationship between Isobel and Mary had become very close in the ensuing months, and she and baby George, who was now ten months old, were positively smitten with one another. Richard would not deprive her of a moment she could spend with their grandson. She knew this without his saying so and loved him for it.

For her part that evening, Isobel had endured with grace the vitriol spewed at her by the Dowager and Lord Grantham over her choosing to return to working with women of ill repute. They insisted she was calling down scandal upon the entire Crawley family. Never mind that it was one afternoon a week and that she had the full support of her husband. Isobel had not quite recovered the strength, since the loss of her son, to return fire in the way she had been long accustomed. Mary had seen the weary look in the eyes of her mother-in-law and had compassion for her.

As the meal concluded and the family were about to go through to the drawing room, Mary stood and announced, "I believe I'll bid you all good night and see to George's bedtime. Nanny says I can soothe him better than she now that he is teething. Isobel, would you be so good as to join me? Only I'd like you to look him over; we shall both sleep better tonight if you do."

Isobel sent a grateful look Mary's way and made to join her. At this the Dowager huffed. "My dear, Dr. Clarkson and the nanny have just examined George and assured you all is well. You mustn't coddle the child Let the staff do what we pay them for." Mary opened her mouth to speak but her mother beat her to it.

"Oh, hush, Mama. Leave her be. I always soothed my girls to sleep when they were teething. It was the only comfort they found at such times. Besides, correct me if I'm wrong, Isobel, but Dr. Clarkson encourages mothers to nurse for the duration of the first year, does he not?"

Isobel was rather taken by surprise, but nonetheless gratified that Cora would consult her for her medical opinion. Cora had softened considerably in her attitude toward Isobel now that they'd both lost children. The two now belonged to an exclusive society of their own, one that no one would aspire to. At the very minimum they now could look at one another and know the other was not whole ... and feel no need to apologize or offer excuses.

"The latest studies do indeed suggest that infants who nurse for the entirety of the first year grow more steadily, sleep more soundly and are more cheerful in demeanor than those who are weaned early. Doctor Clarkson supports this research and has seen it borne out in his own patients. If you'll excuse me ... "

"Cousin Isobel, I'll drive you home when you are ready. Have Carson ring for me," Edith offered with a smile.

Isobel gave a small smile of gratitude and nodded. "Thank you, Edith. That's very kind of you. Well, good night, everyone."

Edith had jumped in before Cousin Violet could get in a smart reply to Isobel's monologue on breastfeeding statistics. She had to hand it to them. Cora, Mary and Edith had come to her aid many times this evening, and for once she felt grateful instead of weak.

Mary had taken Isobel by the arm and walked with her to George's nursery. She dismissed the baby's nanny. "Mrs. Clarkson and I will sit with George this evening. Take the next couple of hours off. Carson will let you know when I retire."

"Of course, m'lady," agreed the nanny and she took her leave, handing over baby George. He patted his mother's face and snuggled against her, but when he turned his head and caught sight of his grandmother he practically leapt toward her. Mary and Isobel exchanged surprised glances and laughed.

"He's all yours, Gran," Mary said, amused, as she passed George to her.

"Oh, my darling boy!" exclaimed Isobel, peppering the baby's face with kisses. He squealed with laughter and nuzzled his face into her neck and Isobel's heart soared. She moved about the nursery with him in her arms, locating a fresh diaper and pajamas and talking to him softly. Mary watched the sweet interaction between them and knew without a doubt that Isobel had been this way with Matthew once. This explained the ease with which Matthew had always shown affection to her, and to his mother.

Isobel was able to reassure Mary that George's teething symptoms were nothing out of the ordinary. She shared how she'd had success, when Matthew was a baby, with rubbing his gums with her finger just before she nursed him. She sat with Mary for George's bedtime feeding, and afterward Mary handed him back to her.

"Rock him for as long as you like. I've begged off for the evening and I think I'll sit over there and read until you're through."

"It's so good of you to share him with me like this, Mary. I can't tell you what ... " Isobel paused, tears welling up in her eyes. She cleared her throat and continued, "what good it does my heart. It's very healing. You do him proud, you know. Matthew. He would love to see the mother you've become."

"Oh, Isobel ..." It was Mary's turn to be at a loss for words. She swiped at tears with the back of her hand and tried to speak again but her voice broke and it came as a strangled whisper. "Does it get easier?"

Isobel herself choked up at seeing Mary's tears. "Well I can only speak as a widow, because as a grieving mother I'm afraid this is still new territory, but yes, dear, it does. You wake up every morning and soldier on, just as you've been doing. I have seen you come so far already. The fact you're out of bed, interacting with your son and talking to me right now is proof that you're surviving. The pain will always be there, love. But so will I." Isobel secured George against her shoulder with one arm and squeezed Mary's hand with her free one.

"Thank you, Isobel," Mary whispered, tears now flowing freely for them both. "Perhaps I'll just sit right here for the time being. If you won't be put out, that is. I believe this is precisely where I need to be."

"Don't be silly; please, stay! You'll forgive me if I go quiet, I hope. I am rather exhausted after dinner and all."

Mary nodded, smiling. "Of course," she said softly. They sat in companionable silence from then on, Isobel humming softly as she rocked baby George. She whispered grandmotherly sweet nothings to him from time to time. "Precious boy ... Gran loves you so ... you look so much like your father ... he'd be so pleased to see how you've grown." She held him long after he was asleep, relinquishing him to his crib only when she knew that she was keeping Mary up. Isobel tucked George's blanket securely around him and bent to kiss his soft cheek. She nodded to Mary and together they left the nursery.

"Do go to bed now, darling," Isobel entreated gently.

"Yes, I'm going. I'm grateful to have had this time with you, Isobel. We may not have Matthew with us now, but at least we have each other."

"Always," Isobel agreed, taking Mary's hands. "It's good to be together. You're the only other person alive now who knew him like I did. Shall I tell Carson you've gone up when I fetch Edith?"

"Yes, but he needn't trouble Anna tonight. If he would simply tell Nanny I've gone to bed, I can see to myself just for tonight."

"Of course, dear. Come to me for luncheon on Friday, will you?"

"I'd like that very much," Mary smiled. "George and I would love to join you. Good night, Isobel. And again, thank you."

She was well and truly exhausted when she arrived home and, after thanking Edith for the ride and bidding her good night, Isobel fixed herself a cup of tea and prepared for bed. She lit a fire in the bedroom fireplace, for despite the warmth of the day there was quite a chill come nightfall. Stripping bare, she slipped into the negligée gifted to her by Cora on her wedding day. At first Isobel had been shocked by the gift, but Cora had looked at her with the expression of one grieving mother to another and had said softly, "Dr. Clarkson loves you so much, Isobel, and I know how desperately you love him. Let him. It will go so far toward your healing." She needed him tonight, whether he should arrive home now or at dawn.

There was a dressing gown that matched the nightgown but she chose to forego it, crossing the room to Richard's side of the bed and retrieving his from the nearby armchair instead. It held his scent, a heady combination of woodsmoke and his aftershave and something that she couldn't quite name, but that was so distinctly him. But it was not merely the fact that the garment smelled like him, it was like him, masculine yet soft and warm. As Isobel wrapped it around herself she imagined it was his arms around her and smiled.

Isobel's intention had been to wait up for Richard, but ten o'clock came and went with no sign of him and she couldn't will her eyes to stay open any longer. Finishing her tea, she penned a quick note to him and left it on the kitchen table.

R,  
Wake me when you get home. I've missed you tonight. Forgive me my fatigue ... at least I've warmed up the bed for you.  
Yours,  
Bel

Turning back the covers, Isobel draped Richard's dressing gown over the bedpost and climbed into bed, embracing his pillow. She buried her face in it. Being surrounded by his scent was not as gratifying as being enfolded in his arms, but it was enough to soothe her into a dreamless sleep.

That was how he found her, arms wrapped around his pillow, honey-colored curls spilling across hers. One shoulder was partially uncovered and he regarded the light blue strap of her gown with a smile. Wake me when you get home, she'd written. At least I've warmed up the bed for you.

Warm was exactly how she looked to him. And enticing. And his. He still could scarcely believe it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here begins the flashback portion of the story, which will conclude in the final chapter.
> 
> ***I paraphrased this bit of dialogue from the conversation between Isobel and the Dowager in S04 E03, in which Violet quotes the Christina Rossetti poem Remember.***

~~~~~~FLASHBACK~~~~~~

Richard's had been the only comfort Isobel would accept in the days after Matthew's death. Their relationship had finally, after ten long years, begun to take a romantic turn while the family had been up at Duneagle. He knew it and she knew it, and while his approach to her at the fair may have been different had he not imbibed a bit too heartily, he'd meant what he said. He didn't leave her side for the first week when Matthew died. He sent to York for a colleague to cover his shifts at the hospital and at her tearful urging he took her home to his cottage.

"Please, Richard. I can't stay here," she'd sobbed, and he'd understood. The memories were beyond her ability to withstand. Together they had packed her most urgent belongings, and he'd locked the door to Crawley House while she waited in his car. She was trembling as she sat there, and he couldn't believe he'd missed it. Of course she was terrified. A motor vehicle had taken the life of her only son and here he was hours later asking her to ride in one. He extended his arm to her and she moved closer to him on the bench seat. She was in shock, staring straight ahead with unblinking eyes. He pulled her into his arms and his heart broke.

"Oh, Isobel … oh, my darling, you're trembling. I'm so sorry. I didn't think. Oh, sweetheart, what can I do?" These words he murmured into her hair as he held her and she clung to him.

Bring him back! Bring me back my baby boy! She had wanted to scream, but it wasn't his fault and it wasn't his to fix. She had mustered just enough courage to look him in the eye, and while her voice betrayed her nerves in its quietness, her gaze did not. Her hand grasped his arm like a vise. "Do you love me?" She suspected she knew the answer or she would not have asked.

His mouth dropped open in bewilderment. Of all the things he supposed she might say, that was not it. But he didn't hesitate to answer, for his love of her had become his primary motivation for living each day. "Oh, Isobel, yes. Yes, I love you. Of course I love you." His hand came up to smooth the hair at her temples and unconsciously she leaned into his touch.

"Then take me home, quickly. Before I have time to be afraid of the ride." He had been able to hide the look of astonishment that immediately came to his face, but just barely. That was Isobel Crawley ... in a state of shock and in the clutches of grief the likes of which no human being should have to bear, she was brave. He pressed a kiss to her hair and put the car in gear, holding her to him with one arm.

He'd held her all that afternoon by the fire as she vacillated between shock and rage. He had only moved to add wood to the fire before suggesting she try to get some sleep. She'd cried out as if pained when he rose, missing his warmth.

"I'm here, darling. You should try to sleep now. I'll show you to the bedroom. If you need anything at all, I'll be just here, on the sofa." The cottage was equipped with a second bedroom, but he'd converted it into an office for the purpose of seeing patients after hours.

"No!" she exclaimed. "I won't put you out of your bedroom." Her eyes were downcast and he had to strain to hear her next words. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

"Oh, Isobel ..." He did not know what to say. This woman he had loved for so many years, this mother whose only son had been stolen from her, was asking to share his bed. He had always believed he'd refuse her nothing, supposing he should ever have the good fortune to love her. And he knew that as far as she was concerned, the social contract could go straight to hell. He was not concerned about what her family would think on his account, but on hers ... Isobel Crawley may not have had a title, but if anyone was a lady it was she, and he would not see her reputation sullied.

He'd realized she was looking at him, waiting for his answer. "Isobel, you know now that I love you. I have loved you for such a very long time. And you need never return to Crawley House if you don't wish to. Yes, I will stay with you tonight, my darling, but hear me well. You may not give a fig what gossip you will inspire, but I do. I'll not have there be any truth behind it. Do you understand me?"

She swallowed, hands clasped behind her back. "Quite," she said softly, her face expressionless. He could not bear to break her further.

"But lest you believe that I regard you as a sister ... " He began, closing the distance between them. His hand came up to lift her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. He pressed his lips to hers in a gentle whisper of a kiss. She responded by grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, her lips parting just slightly as she deepened the kiss. What began tentatively quickly became passionate, their mouths meeting time and again, her hands finding purchase in his silvery-blond hair as his encircled her waist. When she pulled back, it was not out of regret.

"Richard," Isobel whispered, breathless from his kisses, "our timing could not be worse, but I love you too." He suspected as much, but hearing her say the words had him fearing his knees would buckle. He filed that moment away in the storehouse of his mind.

"Oh, but darling, you see I think our timing could not be more perfect. You are a mighty, strong, capable woman, Isobel. But you've just suffered the greatest loss a mother can bear, and even Moses needed companions to lift his hands. We may be in for a rough start, but I believe our love will be sweeter for it. Now, come upstairs and let me hold you." He took her hand and led her up the stairs, where she changed into a nightgown and dressing gown and readied herself for bed, though she did not see how sleep would find her after such a day.

He had changed into pajamas while she was in the bathroom and when she came out he went around to her and took her hand. She hung her dressing gown on the bedpost and he swallowed, his eyes taking in the way the low lighting in the room highlighted the contours of her body through the thin white cotton of her nightgown. He allowed her to choose a side of the bed and pulled the covers over her before he climbed in next to her. They lay facing each other and he regarded her with a mixture of love, respect and concern.

"Isobel," he said gently, "what do you need? Is this all right?" He brought a hand to her cheek and caressed the impossibly soft skin there as he kissed her.

"Yes. Yes, Richard," she said simply. She was glad to be with him, overjoyed even, but that joy was necessarily overshadowed by her grief. She felt it was all wrong, finally admitting her love for Richard on the very day she lost her only son forever. Unfair to Richard. She loved him, was madly in love with him, but there was no way she could demonstrate it now. Disloyal to Matthew, taking up with Richard just hours after his death. And yet, and yet. She knew Richard was right, and while Isobel Crawley hated the notion of needing anyone, she would not survive this without him. She felt at a loss to convey all this to him. She brushed her lips against his, latching onto the bottom one when he deepened the kiss.

"I'm sorry, Richard ... so sorry we're beginning like this. I ... "

He kissed her quiet. She responded, kissing him back though she had begun to tremble again. "Isobel, my love, you have been shaken to the core. Your grief will be all-consuming for a time. But you see, this is not our beginning. You and I have a long history. We've each already seen the other at our best and worst. You won't drive me away. I love you, Isobel. Nothing will change that fact. Now. May I hold you?"

"Yes," she said, and he could hear the exhaustion in her voice. "Please."

"Come here, my love," he beckoned, and she moved closer, curling up against him on her side. She reached out to lay the palm of her hand over his heart but hesitated. In some ways it felt like they had been together for years, but they had only just touched each other as more than friends tonight. He saw the movement, and he caught her hand in his and brought it to its destination. He lay on his back, letting her decide the level of contact between them, but he could reach to card his fingers through her curls and so he did.

She rose up on an elbow after a few minutes to look into his impossibly blue eyes, palm still resting over his heart. The vitality of his heartbeat soothed her. "I'm asking too much of you," she said quietly, matter-of-fact though tears welled in the corners of her eyes.

He drew her down to him and kissed her thoroughly, his heart treasuring the tiny moan that escaped her lips. When the kiss broke he kept her close. "Never, Isobel. No more than I'm willing to give."

"I love you, Richard. Remember that in the days to come. I love you." She kissed him this time, the tip of her tongue tracing his bottom lip. He accepted this most welcome invasion, returning her fervor. They kissed until they were breathless. He allowed her to move herself half over him, the thread of his control stretched thin by the feel of her body and not a great deal covering it. Her nightgown was certainly modest, but the material was thin so that not a great deal was left to the imagination. So he kept her just there, his hands roaming her back but straying no further than her waist.

Isobel had fallen, exhausted, against his chest, tears springing to her eyes unbidden. He remained steady, stroking her hair, rubbing circles on her back. Eventually she had stopped crying just as abruptly as she'd started, too weak to lift her head but pressing kisses to his chest in thanks. She slept for a time but woke later with a startled gasp that also woke Richard.

"Matthew!" She cried out, remembering her new reality. "No!"

Richard's arms came around her. "Isobel. Isobel, I'm here. You're not alone."

She clung to him. "Richard?!"

"Yes, love." He kissed her temple.

"Richard? Matthew!" She was clutching fistfuls of his pajama top, breathing erratically.

"I know, darling," he said, compassionately yet carefully. "I'm with you. I'm here." She began crying again, hysterical, sitting up in the bed, bent double. He sat behind her, situating her between his legs. After a time he coaxed her to lean back against him. She was shaking with sobs, gasping for breath and he knew he needed to intercede.

"Isobel, sweetheart, you need to gain control of your breathing. Here, I'm going to ... " He slid his arms around her waist from behind, pressing a palm to her diaphragm. "Deep breaths, love. Make my hand move. Come on." In order to focus on this task, Isobel had to stop crying. It took several tries but after a few minutes she relaxed back into Richard, breathing steadily.

"You did it, my love! You did it," he whispered in her ear, kissing her there softly. She clasped her hands on top of his, still around her midsection, and he held her in silence. He felt her body go limp against his sometime later and knew she'd fallen asleep.

They spent many nights that way in the ensuing weeks. Sometimes she would rage and scream until she was hoarse, others she'd curl into him on the sofa and cry herself dry. Richard had offered to give her a sedative after the first few nights of watching her struggle, and Isobel had declined at first. ***"I can't help feeling that to accept it would be to forget him, even if only for a few hours. And I can't bear it."

"My darling, better that you forget for a short while and regain your strength, than that you remember to your ultimate destruction." *** He allowed her to ruminate on it without saying anything more until one evening, a week after the burial, when she softly acquiesced under the guise of wanting him to get the benefit of a full night's sleep without waking up to soothe her since he would be returning to work.


	3. Chapter 3

The relationship between Richard and Isobel progressed as the weeks went by. As Isobel learned to treasure Matthew's memory while keeping one foot in the present, she began to join Richard at the hospital several days a week for the company and the gratification of being useful. She stayed for just a few hours each time, leaving before him either to rest or to see baby George. Many evenings he arrived home to find dinner on the table and Isobel greeting him with a glass of his favorite whisky and a kiss. The light was returning to her eyes little by little.

Richard expressed his observations to her one night as she lay in his arms. Their physical relationship had not progressed beyond the boundaries he had outlined initially and he sensed they were both ready for more. His definition of more, however, would be momentous on a life-altering scale. "You're feeling more like yourself these days, aren't you, my Bel?" He had developed a pet name for her in the weeks since their relationship had begun in earnest and she loved it.

She looked up at him lovingly and her beauty in that moment took his breath away. "I am, Richard." She smiled broadly at him. "I've come to understand that the best way to honor Matthew's memory is to strengthen what remains while moving boldly onwards. That's the legacy he left to Downton and the way I intend to remember him to George."

"I am so very proud of you, my darling. What courage you possess! What an example you are to Lady Mary, to Master George, to us all!"

"Well," she demurred, "I don't know about all that. But I do know that you've been correct when you have told me that Matthew would want to see me happy. My well-being was always so important to him. He carried that burden from the time his father died."

"And are you happy, Isobel?" he asked earnestly, his piercing blue eyes searching hers. The strangest sensation settled upon her heart in that instant: love, sorrow and freedom, all in equal measure, and it choked her. She made great efforts to swallow the lump in her throat and took his hand, closing her eyes and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his palm before placing it over her heart. The darkest days of her grief were behind her now. It still sneaked up on her at times, catching her unawares. But she could look out on the horizon and see good things ahead now. The greatest of those was the love of the man in whose arms she lay.

"Yes, Richard," she replied steadily. "I am so much happier than I ever thought I'd be again. I'll be forever in your debt. Your love and devotion to me these past few months has saved my life. I shudder to think where I'd be now had it not been for you." Tears threatened but didn't spill over ... they weren't flowing so freely these days. She kissed him instead, as if her life depended on it.

He smiled against her lips. Isobel Crawley did nothing by halves, that was sure. He was the luckiest man alive to be the recipient of her passion. "Darling Bel, you need never find that out. I have been so blessed to have the privilege of being by your side the last few months, but each of these past ten years as well. You are so pure, Isobel. Pure, and good, and selfless. You inspire others to better things. You raise my game, and you do it all with such grace and kindness. I would be honored to be on the receiving end of your love for the rest of my life. Be my wife, Isobel. Marry me?"

For the first time in ages, Isobel was rendered speechless. Her mind was working a mile a minute but her mouth could not catch up. Richard was as certain as a man could be in such a situation that she would answer in the affirmative, so he watched with love and amusement as countless emotions passed across her face.

"Isobel?" he asked after several minutes passed, making sure she was still with him.

"Richard! Yes," she whispered, smiling beautifully. He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her until neither of them could breathe. By that time she was able to expand upon her acceptance of him. "Nothing would make me happier than to be your wife. I love you more than I thought it was possible to love anyone, and I've known great love before! I thought my life was over ... when Reginald died ... when Matthew died. Richard, you made me feel again. Oh, my love ... " She pressed her hand to her lips, too overcome by emotion to continue.

Richard smiled. How adorable she was, this woman. His love. He pulled her to him and her arms came around him. She buried her face in the warm crook of his neck where she could feel his pulse beneath her lips, and they held one another in silence.

It was he who next spoke. "I don't have a ring for you yet, but I do have this." He reached into the drawer of the nightstand next to him and withdrew a box. When he opened it she saw a solitaire diamond pendant in an antique cut.

"This belonged to my great-grandmother," he explained. "It was passed down to my grandmother, then to my mother, and then to me as I was an only child. My mother had it looked at by a gemologist years ago who said it's a very rare cut that no one does anymore. It lends to the sparkle and fire of the diamond, so he explained. I thought we might take it to the jeweler in York on my next day off, and you can choose the setting."

She just looked at him for a long moment, well and truly taking in the fact that he wanted her to wear a diamond that had meant so much to so many generations of women in his family. This man, this quiet storm of a man. Compassionate, kindhearted, tender, deliberate. He did nothing without considering it from every side first, so different to her in that regard and so wise for it. She expected he'd given no less than the fullest measure of thought to her wearing this most precious stone. He treasured it, he treasured her. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in his arms that held her fast while her world had rushed into the abyss.

"It's simply lovely, Richard. I would be honored to wear something that has held so much meaning to your family. You know I can't help but feel ... " She trailed off, suddenly overcome by emotion, happy tears welling up and spilling down her cheeks. He watched her, brushing them away with gentle fingers. She leaned into his touch and held his hand against her cheek.

"I can't help but feel Matthew smiling on us just now. You and he have so many similarities, and he always held you in the highest regard. He would be our greatest advocate, I do believe." Her eyes were closed and she smiled at the thought of her son taking up for them against the objections of the family. Richard had waited a very long time to see this look on her face, and he knew by it that he had chosen the right time to make her his wife.

"Beautiful," he whispered as he watched her, catching her off-guard and kissing her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, and he heard surprise and desire in it. He took a risk by doing it, relying on self-control he wasn't certain he could keep in check, but he pulled her into his lap and kissed her fully. She relished the contact between them, closer than any they'd yet had. Her skilled fingers traced the fine musculature of his chest and back and strong arms. Her touch was maddening, and he gave into the temptation to kiss the exposed column of her throat, lapping at her pulse when he heard how it made her whimper, felt how it made her squirm.

They pulled back by mutual consent when it became too heated, her forehead resting against his. "My love, I suggest we make this a very short engagement," he said, and she caught his impish grin and reached out to trace it with her fingertips.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs mentioned in this fic are available on my Spotify. Search for Username: ericajanebarry , Playlist: Worthy and True. While you certainly don't need to listen to them for context, they do add to the story.

In a world of glitter and glow  
In a world of tinsel and show  
The unreal from the real thing is hard to know  
I discovered somebody  
Could be truly worthy and true  
Yes, I found my ideal thing when I met you

I see your face before me  
Crowding my every dream  
There is your face before me  
You are my only theme

It doesn't matter where you are  
I can see how fair you are  
I close my eyes and there you are  
Always

If you could see the magic  
If you could see me too  
There would be nothing tragic  
In all my dreams of you

Would that my love would haunt you so  
Knowing, knowing I want you so  
I can't erase your beautiful face before me  
I can't erase your beautiful face before me

They hadn't had to wait long for his next day off, and on Wednesday morning of the next week Richard watched with admiration as Isobel sat in front of the vanity she'd had brought down from Crawley House, applying the faintest hint of color to her lips and cheeks and some kind of black powdered substance to her lashes. It was to be a momentous day for them and she preened a bit more than normal as she dressed herself that morning. She was irresistibly beautiful to him bare-faced, but when she turned toward him his breath caught at her radiance and he understood why taking care of her looks boosted her confidence. Wearing a plum-colored blouse with a deep blue skirt, fresh-faced with her hair impeccably styled, she was a vision to him.

"All right?" she asked with a tilt of her head as she watched him stare at her, his mouth slightly agape.

He straightened up, clearing his throat and smoothing the front of his jacket, and she shook her head and smiled at him. She was pleased that her appearance could evoke such behavior from him.

"Forgive me my ineloquence, Isobel, but you are quite stunning," he managed, leaning against the chaise lest his knees give way.

"You do wonders for my self-confidence, you daft, lovely beggar," she said as she approached him, pretending to adjust his bow tie for an excuse to touch him. He brought his hands to her waist and drew her closer, ducking his head and taking her lips gently, for he did not want to smudge her lip color.

"It'll smudge," she whispered with a shrug of her shoulders, "but I'll fix it. Kiss me again?"

"Oh, beguiling wench," he sighed against her lips, feigning exasperation. She giggled and his heart leapt at the sound. He kissed her more thoroughly and she sighed happily into his mouth. He loved the way she responded to his affections, and if he were honest it did have him longing to hasten their trip to the altar.

As if she were reading his thoughts, Isobel rested her forehead against Richard's, weaving her fingers through his. "It's three weeks now, love. Don't think I'm not impatient as well." She held him out away from her to look at him and was swept up in the love and desire she felt for him. Sometimes it seemed as if her heart could not contain it. She touched her fingertips to her lips in a vain attempt to disguise her emotions.

"Isobel?" He lifted her chin, and when she met his eyes he understood. Her eyes always betrayed whatever she was feeling. "Oh, my darling," he said, smiling softly at her.

"Reginald and I were so happy, you know. How I loved him! I ... I thought I loved him as much as one could ever love another person. I never knew there was more until I loved you, Richard. I married a wonderful man in my youth, but you, love. You're extraordinary." Richard was at a loss for words. He lifted Isobel's hands to his lips, kissing each knuckle and lingering over the third finger of her left hand. He looked up at her as he kissed her there and this time it was Isobel who felt her knees might give way when she saw the desire in his eyes. For a man, Richard was an open book, at least with Isobel. But he had not spoken of his want of her, so great was his resolve to protect her virtue.

"Oh, love," she breathed, overcome. "I do so hope you still look at me that way once all has been revealed. I'm afraid I am not the girl I was when last I was newly married."

He was surprised by this. His Isobel was a woman unafraid to voice her opinions on so many subjects, able to hold her own against the Dowager when even the outspoken Lady Mary would back away going toe-to-toe with him over patient care with such frequency that he was surprised when she didn't challenge him. The fact that there were areas in which her confidence was lacking was a matter he had not considered; that she feared her body would displease him made his heart heavy. Did he dare to tell her how he knew she had no reason to worry? That he had noted the elegant line of her body the moment he met her, had observed for years the sway of her hips as she walked the hospital corridors, the curve of her bottom as she bent over patients' beds, the rise and fall of her bosom as she argued the merits of controversial treatments? What would she think if she knew how little her floor-length, high-necked nightgowns actually hid her figure from him? No, he could not tell her. It would be ungentlemanly.

"Bel, my love, I tell you truly that you are exquisite. I'm afraid I'd embarrass us both if I were to reveal the reason for my certainty before our wedding night, but know this: you have me trembling in anticipation." He allowed his words to rest between them, meeting her astonished expression with a smoldering gaze.

"Now. I believe we've an engagement ring to sort out." He took the situation in command with a swift change of subject and had them in the car and on their way to York while she was still contemplating his words and the fire in his eyes. He glanced over at her several times, the high color in her cheeks telling him that his words had deeply affected her.

They'd had success, and a great deal of fun, at the jeweler's. Richard knew little of jewelry as a man and a doctor but he enjoyed listening to Isobel and the jeweler as they determined that, since she was a nurse and a doting grandmother, a bezel setting would be the best way to showcase the diamond while protecting it. Richard had been the one to suggest the particular setting they finally chose however, a delicately-textured, thin gold band with milgrain detailing around the circumference of the bezel case. To him it spoke of understated elegance, which was precisely how he would describe Isobel's beauty.

She had not expected to see her wedding band until they stood together at the altar, but as it happened he found one during their visit to the jeweler's that had special significance to him. It was a narrow gold band in an open Celtic knot work pattern that Richard explained was a simplified infinity knot, signifying that love has neither beginning nor end. Isobel was drawn to the timeless beauty and the meaning behind the design, and the two in concert with the jeweler concluded that it would look stunning with Isobel's engagement ring. As they were preparing to leave, Richard went ahead of Isobel to bring the car around and Isobel purchased a set of cuff links for him bearing the same Celtic knot work pattern as her wedding band.

They had settled the matter of the wedding itself in the days between Richard's proposal and the trip into York. It had been considerably more difficult to sort than Isobel's jewelry. Isobel wanted to elope to Gretna Green as Lady Sybil and Tom Branson had nearly done ("Let me see Scotland, Richard! Take me to your hometown and, for God's sake, let's get out from under the prying eyes of the Crawley family,") or simply visit the registry office.

Richard agreed with her that the marriage was theirs to celebrate and they expressed each one to the other that the kind of celebrating they had in mind involved the two of them, a bed and little else. For his part however, Richard wanted his conduct toward Isobel to be above reproach in the eyes of the Crawleys, and as such he argued for a church ceremony, Reverend Travis presiding over their vows and her family in attendance.

"However much you detest it now, my Bel, you'll be glad of it in the long run. Don't say you don't want Master George there. Think of the photographs he'll have to look back on one day. And your friendships with her Ladyship and Ladies Mary and Edith. You'll need them in your corner one day ... don't burn bridges. We will not allow them to take it over. This wedding will be on our terms, Isobel. I'll not compromise. I may fight my corner more quietly than you, love, but I know how to dig my heels in. You've no cause for concern on that front."

"If my honor is so important to you, then I shall concede. But what about you? I'll have a small army of Crawleys in attendance, but it's your wedding as much as it's mine, darling. Whom do you want to see there?" She regarded him with such warmth and concern that once again he was breathless, with nothing he could do but draw her close and press his lips to hers.

"You are like no other, Isobel," he said reverently, and she smiled as she kissed him, cupping his face in her hand.

"What do you want?" She whispered against his lips, pressing for an answer. This was to be his first wedding, after all.

He sighed, taking her hands in his. "The truth?" He asked, and she nodded. "You, Isobel. You and you alone are what I want. I know that all the pomp and circumstance aren't your cup of tea at all, but you can go that way when it's called for. Quite frankly it exhausts me, love. I take nothing from it but a headache most of the time. What I want ... all that matters to me ... is to be united with you in body, soul and spirit. But you ask a fair question. Whom would I like to have there, if it must be more than just us two? Mrs. Hughes is a countrywoman, so having her in attendance will be like bringing a bit of home along. And if she's going to be there, then Carson must be as well. Perhaps those two will follow our lead ... God knows it's high time they walk down the aisle themselves!" She laughed in agreement and he kissed the tip of her nose. "I think Molesley should be there ... as a guest, of course, like the others. He has been loyal to both of us for years. And Tom Branson. I don't think he'll feel he's meant to be included unless we invite him personally."

"I agree. He feels so on the outside, and it's a shame. He was Matthew's best friend, and he's been so kind to me since ... " Isobel trailed off as tears filled her eyes. It happened less often now that mentioning Matthew's name or thinking of him made her cry, but it was just over three months since his passing and there were bound to be difficult moments.

Richard drew Isobel close on the sofa and wiped her tears as they fell. "I know, Bel. Branson has come to look at you as a mother figure, I do believe."

She nodded against him. "And I agree with you. He looks after me much the same as Matthew did. Richard, I wonder ... if indeed we are having a church wedding, do you suppose Tom would escort me down the aisle?"

"I think it's a lovely idea, Bel," he told her.

The plans had unfolded from there. Richard and Isobel went to speak to Reverend Travis and the date was set. They would marry one month from the day Richard had proposed. The jeweler delivered Isobel's rings on the very day the pair were to announce their engagement during dinner at the Abbey. Richard sat Isobel on his lap when he placed the engagement ring on her finger.

"The next time I do this, I'll be saying, 'with this ring, I thee wed,'" Richard spoke raptly.

They kissed then, and Isobel, emboldened by the fact that the wedding date was now set, unbuttoned Richard's shirt. They did, after all, need to get changed for dinner. In the time since she'd come to live at the cottage, Isobel had seen - watched - Richard change his shirt in front of her a number of times, but he'd not afforded her the opportunity to touch him. Now he observed as her nimble fingers unfastened the row of buttons, unaware that he was holding his breath in anticipation of her touch. When she had released the buttons on his cuffs, Isobel pushed the fabric off Richard's shoulders and her hands came to rest on his bare skin.

A sibilant, "Oh," issued from Isobel's lips when her fingertips encountered his skin. He only heard it because he had seen her mouth move. He had been watching as each expression passed across her face. Softly she moved her fingers across his shoulders and over his chest and rib cage. He saw her eyes close, the tip of her tongue moistening her lips, the way her head lolled back as she took in the feel of him.

"Warm," she breathed, thinking aloud. Lord, the woman was driving him mad. "Warm and wonderful."

"Isobel," Richard said, voice low and husky. Wordlessly, she took his hand and placed it at her throat. It was her turn to watch as his fingers worked to release the buttons of her blouse one by one in the same manner as she had done for him. He pulled the fabric free and looked upon her, clad only in a brassiere from the waist up.

The fact that she did not wear a corset had been a shock of the most pleasant kind when he had first held her in his arms, but now that his eyes drank in what for so long he had only imagined, reality far outstripped his dreams.

Isobel's heart hammered as she regarded Richard's appraisal of her. He noted it, could see the pulse pounding in her throat.

"Isobel. Oh, my darling girl, don't. You are beautiful, above and beyond my wildest imagination. Look at me," he commanded, and when she did he pressed his lips to her sternum, just where the swell of her breasts began. She gasped. It had been twenty years since anything but her own hands had touched her body. She'd considered that aspect of life behind her now. Even now, deeply in love with Richard, she still had not dared to hope that he would want her.

Want her indeed! Richard traced the contours of Isobel's shoulders with fingertips trained to explore, wondering how it was that her skin could feel sweet. He brushed his lips over her collarbone and felt her hands clutch at him.

"Oh, Isobel," he sighed. She felt his breath against her skin and a tightness began to coil in her belly. "What we have to look forward to!"


	5. Chapter 5

When Isobel thought back on it afterwards, making the announcement to her family about her engagement and upcoming wedding was a blur. What had she even said? Evidently it had been intelligible to some degree because the first thing she remembered, after the blazing blue of Richard's eyes burning through her from across the table, was Lady Mary's uncharacteristic delighted gasp and giddy applause. It was the first full smile Isobel had seen from Mary since they'd been together in the delivery room just after George's birth.

She recalled Cora's smiling eyes, her genuinely offered, "Well done, Isobel!" Robert's standing and raising a toast, "To our dear Doctor and the future Mrs. Clarkson," had caught her by surprise. Richard had told her later, with much amusement, that her eyes had gone wide as saucers.

When they returned to the cottage after dinner, Isobel and Richard collapsed, exhausted, onto the bed and into one another's arms. "I have to concede I was wrong, Richard! I went in looking for a fight and it turns out there was none to be had. I underestimated the lot of them!"

"You are loved, sweet Isobel. More than you realize."

"So are you, my darling man." Isobel took hold of his hand and laced her fingers through his. Richard's heart skipped a beat when he saw the adoration in her eyes. She continued, "I knew that we wouldn't get off without them attempting to assert some measure of influence over our wedding, though. Sure enough, Violet and Cora leapt at their perceived opportunity to plan. But you! Major Clarkson made his appearance when you said to Violet, calm as a convent, 'Lady Grantham, the arrangements are made, and you've nothing to do but enjoy the day.' You managed to be masterful and gracious in equal measure. I have much to learn from you in that regard. No one is surprised when I speak my mind, but you, love! You wait until it just won't do to keep silent, and by then you've thought long and hard about what you want to say. They listen because you're kind and eloquent when you speak. I love that about you, Richard."

"I love everything about you, Isobel," he replied, and it wasn't a deflection. She looked into his eyes and saw the sincerity in them. She was both humbled and alarmed by it, for she knew that love is more than hearts and flowers and seeing nothing but perfection in one's beloved. But then, she argued with herself, surely Richard knew that. No one but he had seen the darkest days of her life.

"Surely not everything, love. I am plenty flawed. Don't misunderstand me, I am ever so glad that you see good in me. Only I know from my marriage to Reginald that while it is possible to remain in love, there comes a time when the newness and euphoria fade away. Don't place me upon so high a pedestal that you believe I'll never aggravate you, that my habits won't irk you." She paused, allowing him to process what she was saying, and lay her hand over his heart so that he knew she was not distancing herself from him.

"I'll never do anything intentionally if I know it irritates or hurts you, but I'm flesh, my dear, as are you. However much the thought might mollify us, we will hurt each other. I adore you. I cannot wait to be your wife, and I look forward to all that entails." She raised an eyebrow at him in what was clearly a suggestive manner and he felt his skin begin to tingle. He could see that she was taking great pains to assure him that she was not changing her mind, and in turn he resolved to hear not only her words but the heart behind them.

Isobel watched his eyes carefully before continuing, her arm going around him, her fingers beginning to knead the small of his back. "I just want you to know what marriage will be. It'll be wonderful. The most worthwhile thing we will ever do. But you'll feel like you hate me sometimes, Richard. That's only a small part of it, but it is part of it, and I ... " She faltered at the end, thinking of his ability to make an impact in so few words. Had she said too much? Should she tarnish his ideals of marriage before theirs even began?

"Shh, Isobel. Don't doubt yourself. I know you say this because you love me. I'll remember your words when the hard times come. If I'm not mistaken, I believe that what you're telling me is that Nurse Crawley, with her vast intelligence, sharp skills, and her propensity to raise my ire in a heartbeat, and Isobel, the warm, passionate, selfless woman in my arms, are one and the same, yes?"

"Well ... " She thought for a moment. "Essentially, yes."

"We have weathered our share of arguments over the years, have we not?"

She couldn't deny it. "Indeed we have."

"I believe I've been suitably prepared for what lies ahead," he said, sounding for all the world like Major Clarkson, masterful and commanding.

"Richard?" It wasn't the response she'd expected. It was more dogmatic, less hurt. She'd hoped she wouldn't hurt him but expected that she had. She marveled at his ability to condense the barrage of words she'd leveled at him so succinctly into a coherent point. He was the perfect counterpoint to her in so very many ways.

"Isobel, today was a victory for us. For you particularly, and I don't want you to rush headlong into unnecessary anxiety and overlook what happened tonight at dinner. I have heard every word you've said and I take it all very much to heart. You're wise to caution me as you've done but let us leave it there for now. I love you, we're getting married in three weeks, and your family has given us their blessing. We didn't need it, would have moved forward without it, but let's not overlook the fact that it didn't come to that. Stop, my darling, and treasure this. Come here."

Isobel bit her lip, hesitating for just one moment before making her decision. Richard had resolved to protect her honor and she wanted to uphold the decisions he made in their interest. At the same time she craved his touch, every fiber of her being longing for physical affection from him. She took his invitation and lowered her body on top of his.

He drew a breath that he then exhaled slowly, willing himself to remain in control. "God, Isobel," he breathed. They were both fully clothed except for their shoes, but even so the press of the length of her body against his was electrifying. She lay still. He would determine how they were to proceed from this point. She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding when his arms came around her, wrapping her tightly in an embrace. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and they held onto one another in silence.

"I love you, Richard," she spoke softly in his ear, kissing him there. She had said it before, but this time he heard the full measure of meaning behind the words.

"I know you do, my Bel. And I love you. Above all else, I love you." He let his fingers trail up and down her back, tracing her vertebrae. For her part Isobel remained still, every nerve ending aware of all the places where their bodies made contact. She had always been very tactile in her love of Reginald, her enthusiasm matching his every day of their twenty years together. But as much as she enjoyed that aspect of her marriage, she had never longed for him as fiercely as she wanted Richard. Reginald had been so unlike the men of their time, openly welcoming her physicality within their marriage. Would Richard do likewise? She hoped so; she thought so, but doubt crept in from time to time.

"Penny for them," he said gently, his fingers working their way through her hair, removing the pins and winding her long, honey-colored curls around his wrists. "You're awfully anxious tonight."

She raised herself up on her forearms slightly so that she could see his face. Though she was uneasy the serene blue depths of his eyes soothed her. "I'm sorry, my darling," she began, but couldn't think how to continue.

"I know the fervor with which you've approached our relationship, so it would seem unlikely that you're getting cold feet, except that anyone else would think you were. Angst over the family's reaction, tension I can feel in your body now. Tell me, sweet girl. Please."

She smiled briefly at this endearment. "I'm hardly a girl, Richard. I suppose that's ... that's a bit of what troubles me. The rest is ... heavens. I have never been at a loss for words with you before, have I?" She was self-deprecating, and it was funny, but it was so out of character for her that his eyes turned sad. He smoothed his hands up and down her sides and kissed her hair.

"It's only you and I here, Isobel. There is not a thing you could say that would ever change my mind about you."

"I hope so, love. You see I'm not sure whether the subject matter is something you'll be willing to discuss prior to marriage."

"Well clearly if it's upsetting you so much it's something we need to discuss, propriety be damned. I'll not have you uneasy like this during what should be one of the happiest times of our lives. We are still getting married, yes?"

"Of course, Richard! You're all I want, if I may be so forthright. In fact you should know that forthrightness is the heart of the matter."

"I've never known you to be anything less," Richard said as he ran his hands through her hair, and they both smiled. His gentle words and the way he never stopped touching her spoke of his determination to make her feel safe. She took a deep, steadying breath and began.

"Richard, I was never one to perform my wifely duties begrudgingly with Reginald. There was no reticence on my part. I'm trying to say that I ... matched his eagerness in ... in the bedroom and that it shocks me, but my feelings for you in that regard already surpass those I had for him. Except I wonder, in light of how adamantly you've been protecting my virtue, whether you will ... be put off."

Richard sat up against the headboard, pulled Isobel to him and wrapped his arms around her, rocking her. "Isobel, how brave you are to tell me! How crucial it is that we communicate well from the start. Thank you, my love, for trusting me enough to share your heart like this." He continued to hold her and she relaxed into him. She knew not yet how he would answer her, but the tenderness with which he handled her now was slowly melting away her apprehension.

"Richard, I can't say whether it's the case that I'm not like most women, or that many women feel the same and are afraid to say so. I'm inclined toward the latter, but either way, I doubt you would deny that there are stigma attached to women - wives - ... enjoying the physical aspects of marriage, and we are not painted in a flattering light. I ... oh, listen to me! This is absurd ... " Not at all certain how to finish without making a fool of herself, Isobel went quiet and curled in against Richard once more.

Richard let a moment pass, then held Isobel out away from him, just enough to take in the high color in her cheeks and the look of uncertainty in her eyes.

"Sweet girl," he said, just above a whisper. He raised a hand to caress her cheek, tracing the contours of the beautiful face he loved. His touch went miles toward soothing her, Isobel realized. Had done for years. Brushes of his hand against her elbow at the hospital when they'd lost a patient. The reassurance of his hands on her shoulders as she sat by Matthew's bedside, willing him to heal. The heady feeling of being held in his arms on the dance floor at the Abbey, where, she'd admit now, she had begun to dream of more between them. The way his arms had held her world together in the long, empty, lonely days and nights after Matthew was killed. She supposed she could guess at his answer, she realized now. A beatific smile settled on her lips. Richard saw it and brushed his thumb across her lips. She kissed it and felt a tightening begin low in her abdomen.

"Oh, my Isobel," Richard began adoringly. He brought her to sit across his lap, and her hands came to rest on the lapels of his shirt. "My answer is a simple one. I should hope that you would want me, otherwise why would we marry? You know far better than I that lovemaking is not all there is to marriage, but without it I'm not sure two people can have a marriage. And if you were not to enjoy it, why would I want to subject you to it?" At this she reached a hand to the nape of his neck, drawing him to her and kissing him openly. He tangled his fingers in her hair, sucking her bottom lip between his own, and only when the need to breathe won out did they separate.

"I am not marrying most women, Isobel. I am marrying the one whose eyes I get lost in, whose lips taste of vanilla and the finest wine, whose skin is impossibly soft, and I ache, Isobel. I ache to feel every inch of that skin against mine. My woman is my equal, my complement in all things. I do not know, nor do I care, how most men feel about wives who overtly want them. I only know that I am delighted to learn that what I suspected about you is correct. I have noted the way you flourish with physical contact, and my love, if you knew the dreams inspired by your responsiveness I believe I might shock even you."

"Only I wasn't sure," she replied, "because every time we touch, your restraint has made me wonder. Do I come on too strong? Do you mean for our marriage to be one of companionship alone? Is it me? What have I done? How have I misunderstood you? Now that we're talking I know you don't see me as merely a companion, but as I've been a wife before I knew it was wrong to allow a misunderstanding to go unchecked and I- "

Richard cut her off with the press of a finger to her lips, not because he desired to interrupt her, but to save her from whipping herself into even more of a frenzy. "Isobel, it's all right now. As I've said, the way you demonstrate your love for me is perfect for us. I never dared to dream that I would win the love of a woman who matched my own physical need. I long for it every bit as much as you do. I exercise restraint with you now because I cannot violate my conscience, darling, and if I were to bed you before we were man and wife in the eyes of God, I would be doing you the greatest disservice. There was a time when Reginald guarded your virtue, was there not?"

Isobel smiled fondly at the memory of her first engagement. "Of course he did, and it was terribly difficult for both of us, but it was unequivocally worth our while."

"Then perhaps you can understand. Your late husband has given me the most precious gift I could ever hope to receive. Your confidence, your competence, your grace ... They all speak to the fact that he treasured you, Isobel. I owe him no less than to do the same. That is why I won't speak of my desire for you, not now. Not just yet. But if you knew, my Bel. If you knew."

"I think I do know, love. I'm afraid I know all too well. And while I don't share your belief that we must wait, I will support your decision. You deserve the anticipation of our wedding night. Richard, you said I was your perfect complement ... " She looked into his eyes and they smiled back at her.

"Aye, that you are."

She thrilled at the slip into his brogue, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a smile of her own. "Well you most certainly are mine. You've no idea the imaginations you will inspire, now that I know I've met my match." If it sounded seductive, she absolutely meant it to.

When they had changed for bed, he surprised her by rolling her beneath him and kissing her senseless, his hands ghosting over her curves a little more boldly, allowing hers to wander just a bit more than they had before. She did not quarrel when he pulled back, settling in against her pillow and pulling his arm around her waist from his position behind her.

"I love you." She looked over her shoulder at him, and he pressed his lips to hers one more time.

"And I am so in love with you," he answered, fatigue thickening his accent in a way she found adorable.

They never drifted out of one another's arms that night, each now aware and eternally grateful of the other's need for contact.


	6. Chapter 6

The next weeks were a flurry of activity. Isobel had taken up residence with Richard at the cottage from the day she lost Matthew, and in the ensuing few months Richard had suggested they replace some of his things, which held little meaning to him, with some of hers, which meant a great deal. There was no great rush to empty Crawley House, but as a wedding present to his bride Richard had hired painters to repaint the interior of the cottage and movers to move his old furniture out and Isobel's in. At first she'd protested ("Richard, this is your home! I love it this way because it speaks of you!"). But he would not be deterred.

"Isobel, it's our home. It has needed brightening up for ages but I never got around to it. It's so dark in here, and you're so bright and vibrant. Let me do this for us."

Isobel had acquiesced, and they'd discussed which of his things should be kept and which of hers to move down. He advocated for tossing all of his furnishings, but there were pieces of his that she loved. In the end they kept his dining table at her insistence. It was a pine trestle table that Richard and his father had built. There were two benches that went with the table. They kept one with it and moved the other into the entryway. Isobel brought in six sack-back Windsor dining chairs for the ends and other side of the table. When Richard pressed Isobel for her preference in paint colors, she suggested a very pale yellow for the downstairs, which was mostly one common space with the exception of Richard's office. He suggested they paint out all the dark wood paneling in white.

"Richard," she'd sighed, "it's not a bad thing if the house retains a few masculine touches. I welcome them, you know. My life has been bereft of them for far too long." But alas he'd convinced her when he painted a small section of the wall in their chosen yellow and an equally sized section of woodwork in white. She had to admit that the colors looked lovely together and brightened up the atmosphere considerably.

In addition to the dining chairs, the pair brought in Isobel's master bedroom furniture, as Richard preferred it to his and the bed was bigger. At this he had given her a suggestive look and she was thrilled and more than a little gratified. They also pulled in a settee and armchairs from her drawing room at Crawley House, and Richard had personally brought down Isobel's vanity during her first week at the cottage. He requested that they paint the bedroom in a shade of blue similar to her drawing room. She'd agreed to the color but suggested they choose a lighter shade as the bedroom was smaller and had fewer windows.

All in all, the house was coming along nicely and, if she were honest, Isobel was tickled that it was becoming theirs. She temporarily cut back her hours at the hospital, keeping closer to home as one of them needed to be present in order to give the workers access to the house. It was more idle time than Isobel was accustomed to or, at least initially, comfortable with. It was the first time since Matthew's death that she had spent alone with her thoughts and memories of him, and for a few days she found herself as deeply in mourning as she'd been just afterwards.

On her fourth day of sequestration, Isobel sat down at Richard's piano. She had taken lessons as a girl and had done quite well, but there hadn't been a great deal of opportunity to play in recent years. Bach was the first thing that came to mind. She had known "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" off by heart once ... could she remember it now? It came back to her gradually, so that by the time she located the sheet music she had little need for it. It had always been her favorite piece of music, and when her spirit was in need of realignment she had always run to it. Once she could play it through, she sang along. At first she cried through it, but then it brought her hope. That was how Richard found her that afternoon. She was oblivious to his coming in and once he heard the music he did not announce himself for fear she would stop playing. He stood in the doorway to the sitting room, transfixed. When she finished, he watched her swipe at a tear with the back of her hand. It was then that he made his presence known.

"Hello, Isobel," he said. She rose from the piano bench and turned toward him with a smile. He held his arms out to her, wrapping her up tightly as soon as she was close enough for him to reach.

"Hello, Richard," she said softly, palming his cheek and pressing her lips to his. As he looked into her eyes he could see that more tears had been shed that day than he had witnessed.

He kissed her thoroughly, content to be back in her arms after a long day. She gloried in the feeling of his strong arms holding her, his embrace so warm and enticing. "How is it I didn't know you were musically inclined?" he asked, a proud smile on his face.

She shrugged against him. "Hasn't been much call for it. I can't say what came over me today, but it was rather cathartic."

"Ah, so that explains these." He traced the tracks of tears on her cheeks. "That was beautiful, my love. And I saw you weren't reading the music, which tells me that this piece has a special place in your heart."

She nodded. "My most favorite. It always has been. It's always served as an encouragement to my spirit when I'm in need of ... redirection."

His eyes widened as he understood, his hands finding hers and lacing their fingers together, lips pressing against her forehead. "Did you make peace today?" he whispered.

"I'm beginning to," came her soft reply. "Of course the process of grieving is not a straight line, but yes, there's reconciliation taking place now."

"Play it again?" he asked, holding her gaze. "For me?"

Isobel looked surprised, her cheeks coloring slightly, but she assented. Richard wanted to share in what she loved. He had been her conduit for healing since Matthew's death, but he had recognized a void in the process; one he couldn't fill. She was finally ready to face the God she had felt forsaken by, and music was the means by which she would find rest for her soul.

"All right," she agreed. "Sit with me?" His heart felt as though it might burst at her invitation. He was about to witness something so sacred in its intimacy that he knew he would come away a changed man.

Isobel sat down at the piano once more, Richard to her left, and began to play again. Richard's eyes darted between her fingers on the keys and her face, upturned, eyes closed. He had never seen her look so serene. She played it through a few times and the last time she sang along. If he had thought she was beautiful before, the sight and sound of her singing praises to God though her heart was broken elevated her beauty to ethereal in his eyes. A thought came to him, one that he resolved to see Lady Edith about at the earliest opportunity.

She finished playing and dropped her hands into her lap. She looked at Richard, letting him see the fresh tears in her eyes. He brought his lips to her cheeks, kissing them away.

"That was incredible, Isobel," he said earnestly. "Will you play something else for me?"

Isobel was caught off guard. "Well, I ... I suppose. This is another favorite, though you must forgive me if I don't do it justice. I've not practiced this one and it's far more difficult than the Bach piece." She shuffled the sheet music until she came to "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God."

"Ah, Martin Luther. I must say, my darling, your tastes in music are superb, though it's not as if that should surprise me," Richard said.

Isobel smiled. "I'm glad to discover that you share them," she said, and kissed him. Her heart thrilled at the chance to share with him something so precious to her. She played the hymn, singing along with it. Just before the last stanza, she whispered to Richard, "This bit is going to catch me up."

That word above all earthly powers, no thanks to them, abideth;  
The Spirit and the gifts are ours through Him Who with us sideth:  
Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;  
The body they may kill: God's truth abideth still,  
His kingdom is forever.

She fell into his arms as she finished, crying openly though for only a few minutes. He lifted her chin when the sobs quieted and saw that sweet, peaceful smile once again. "My Isobel. Thank you for sharing this with me. You are so brave, sweetheart. Bitterness would have been easier, but you're doing the right thing."

They made dinner together that evening, as they had come to do most evenings. It was something else Isobel discovered she loved. She had always known her way around a kitchen, but had agreed to take on a cook when she and Matthew came to Crawley House because it pleased her son. Now she was delighted to resurrect the recipes she loved and to learn Richard's favorites. If she were completely honest, what she truly loved was working alongside Richard ... the easy conversation, their hands brushing as they reached for this ingredient or that, his lips finding the back of her neck as he stepped up behind her while she stirred a pot on the stove. He reached around in back of her to grab a spoon and she surprised him, turning around and capturing his lips in a deep and hungry kiss. Caught flat-footed, he moaned into her mouth before he could stop himself.

"Oh, my Bel," he whispered, his voice rough with desire. "You're playing with fire, love."

She fixed him with a saucy look and when she spoke, the tone of her voice matched it. "In this instance I cannot wait to get burned."

On the night before the wedding, Richard and Isobel went to dinner at the Abbey. Isobel had cried that afternoon as she packed a bag to stay the night. She had spent every night in Richard's arms since Matthew died and the mere mention of a night away from him brought to the surface an ache deep within her heart. Richard had watched her, himself nearly in tears at her anguish. He hadn't realized it would be so heart wrenching for her, but then she hadn't either. She looked up at him, her big brown eyes pooling with tears. "This is ridiculous, Richard! I am a grown woman. It is one night away from you, when I'll have you every night thereafter for the rest of our lives. I feel so ashamed, crying like this! What is wrong with me?!"

Richard had sat down on the bed, beckoning her over. When Isobel sat down next to him, he pulled her into his arms. "Isobel, you do not have to spend the night at the Abbey. It's only a formality, love. It has no bearing on tomorrow. If you stay it will not change a thing except to feed the family gossip mill, and we know you don't give a damn about what they say."

"I'm going to do it, Richard. The young Ladies have designs on dressing me in the morning and just once more I do long to be the subject of such sisterhood. Only I suppose I hadn't realized just how quickly I've grown accustomed to sleeping in your arms. Whether or not I sleep for just one night is inconsequential, it's the fact that I need you. You see I seem to have a peculiar history of losing the men I love ... " Her words ceased as her voice broke.

Richard felt tears prick the corners of his eyes and drew a breath. "Darling girl," he said softly, "if my words fail to comfort you now, I pray that the conviction behind them will. Neither of us knows how many are our days, but you see I can't help but think that we have lasted this long because we were meant to spend the remainder of them together. As far as it depends on me, you will never know this kind of deep loss again. No more death, Isobel. Ours is a life beginning anew, and while I have never thought it wise to rely on intuition, I can't deny that I sense that our years together will be many."

"And I will make certain that you know, each and every one of our days, how deeply and utterly I love you. It's arresting, Richard, this love. I have loved, and been loved, so thoroughly in my life, but nothing ... nothing compares to this." Isobel found it difficult to breathe around the lump in her throat and she lay her head on his shoulder while he held her.

"Embrace it, Isobel. Don't allow it to invoke fear. We have been given this gift to enjoy. As surely as I can, I promise you that I'm not going anywhere, not without you."


	7. Chapter 7

Richard and Isobel had gone to dinner, cherishing the way the family made much of the wedding and the fact that most of the conversation revolved around them. It was comfortable for neither to be the center of attention but as the atmosphere was so full of love and encouragement they endured it with all grace. Isobel spent much of the time with George in her arms, settling down on the settee in the drawing room after dinner with him snuggled against her chest and Richard next to her, her hand clasped in his. When the evening was winding down and it was time for Richard to go home and Isobel upstairs to bed, they stood in the foyer and held each other as close and as long as propriety allowed, making concessions because in mere hours they would no longer need to trouble themselves about such things.

She looked up at him and two fat teardrops slid down her cheeks. He caught them with a brush of his thumb which he then brought to his lips, effectively kissing them away.

"I already miss you," she whispered, her voice having broken. "I feel like I'm nineteen again. This is silly."

He held her close with an arm around her waist and gently swayed with her, soothing her. "Shhh. Silly is the last thing you are, my beauty. But no more tears, all right? My love will be with you always, and I will see you in just a few short hours."

"I know," she whispered. "And I'm never letting you go again. If that sounds desperate then I suppose that's what I am." She held onto his lapels and let herself get lost in his eyes for a moment.

"Does it matter how it sounds if it works for us?" Richard traced Isobel's cheekbone with his thumb before sweeping it across her bottom lip. She pressed a lingering kiss there, looking up at him from beneath her long lashes. The frisson that passed between them was palpable and they shared a long, smoldering look.

"Richard?" she said so softly he almost missed it, except that he was watching her beautiful mouth.

"Yes, Isobel?"

"Kiss me? So that I can feel it until I see you again?" She chanced openly voicing her desire for him because the wedding was so close at hand.

"Step outside with me so we can be certain we're alone," he said, his voice thick with longing. He removed his overcoat, wrapping it around her shoulders as he ushered her outside with a hand at the small of her back.

It was a moment Isobel would remember forever. It was just barely snowing and so cold that it made her gasp. He brought them to stand so that her back was toward the house, sheltering her from the elements as much as possible.

Richard had refused to allow Isobel to see the extent of his hunger for her, but now she looked into his eyes and saw it plainly. She was astonished, speechless. A delightful shiver ran up her spine.

"Come here," he said, and her knees went weak at the sound. She stepped up to him, never breaking his gaze. "Put your hands on me, Isobel." She did as he asked, sliding her palms against his abdomen between his waistcoat and shirt. It baffled her that he could be so warm in spite of the cold. She felt his heart beating under her fingertips and found it incredibly provocative.

Richard's arms came around her, but instead of holding her loosely at the waist he settled his hands on her hips, pressing her body against his. She closed her eyes, committing to memory the feel of him, of them together. He watched her this way for a long moment, himself keeping forever the image of her in this instant, before swiftly taking her lips. She cried out and his mouth captured the sound. His lips parted hers, his tongue teased. She let hers sweep across his lower lip and her body relaxed into his. She nipped at his lips, then soothed the sting with her tongue. She memorized the taste of him, of single-malt scotch and dark chocolate and something rich and unidentifiable that was simply Richard.

When they parted, Richard pulled Isobel's hips tighter against him for an instant. A sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a sob issued from her lips at the long-awaited contact and she pressed them to his shoulder. "How I love you, my bride," he whispered hotly.

"Richard, I'll never be able to let you go if you don't go now." Her voice wavered as she tried to keep her tears in check. "Here," she slid his coat off her shoulders and held it out for him. "Go, my darling, and be safe." He watched her lips tremble and her big, expressive eyes fill with tears.

"Remember, no more tears. I will see you in the morning." He held her face in his hands and kissed her gently one more time.

"Sleep well," she said. "For me. I won't." She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "Excitement is getting the better of me. You're so worth the while." She took his arm and opened the car door for him.

"You must get back inside before you catch cold." He caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

"I love you," she said simply, as no other words were better suited. They fell far short of encompassing what was held within her heart, but she had the rest of her life to show him.

"I love you, Isobel. Inside now. Go." He watched her open the door and drove away. She leaned against the door, fingers pressed against her lips both to keep the tears at bay and in remembrance of Richard's kiss. When she moved toward the stairs Carson came to her side.

"I trust all is in good order, Mrs. Crawley?" he asked. He had an inkling of what must be going through her mind, but he felt it was still prudent to check in with her.

"It is, Mr. Carson," she said, a smile forming on her lips. "I'm afraid I find myself once again in the role of lovesick bride. Who would have believed it?"

Carson could not hide his own smile. "I believed it, ma'am. For all it's worth I've seen it coming for an age now."

"Have you?" She smiled beautifully, delighted by the notion that the love between herself and Richard had been obvious to others for so long.

Carson let slip yet another grin. "If I am speaking out of turn I apologize, but have you not observed that great affection often begets great fury, ma'am?"

Isobel blushed wildly, studying the floorboards for a moment before looking up. "Careful, Mr. Carson, lest it appear you're speaking from experience," she teased.

This time Carson's cheeks reddened and he cleared his throat to try and cover his bluster. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he said unconvincingly.

Isobel huffed. "Please, Mr. Carson. I should think we've known each other long enough that we are friends now, yes?"

"It is a great privilege to be counted among your friends, Mrs. Crawley."

"Then as your friend, I'll chance impertinence to urge you not to ignore the obvious any longer. Yes, it's a risk anytime we put our hearts on the line. But you see, I've grown close enough to Mrs. Hughes that I can assure you, your risk would not go without reward." He was silent, considering her words, so Isobel continued. "There's a sweetness to love at our age, Mr. Carson. It's as if I've been kissed by God Himself, being given the chance to love and be loved with the benefit of experience, without the idealism of youth. My soul is at rest now in loving Richard and being loved by him. It's like I've come home." If her words hadn't given him pause, the look on her face most certainly did. "Listen to me ... I must sound very foolish. I should be off to bed now," Isobel finished. Had she said too much?

"You don't sound foolish at all, Mrs. Crawley. You sound happy, well and truly happy."

"I am, Mr. Carson. Completely." She paused for a beat. "I do hope I've not offended you. I simply cannot watch you and Mrs. Hughes long for one another unrequited without saying something, now that I know what you're missing. Don't miss it," she whispered at the end, giving his forearm a squeeze.

Carson glanced at her appreciatively. "If your words struck a nerve, it is only because the truth is difficult to face. I will take them under advisement, Mrs. Crawley." It was now he who suddenly took a keen interest in the grain of the floorboards. If she hadn't been paying close attention, Isobel would have missed his next words. "I love her," he whispered.

Isobel broke into a full smile. "There it is," she said triumphantly. "Don't keep it a secret any longer. Not from her. Good night, Mr. Carson."

He gave her a nod. "Good night to you, Mrs. Crawley." He smiled, adding, "This is the last time I'll be calling you 'Mrs. Crawley.' Get some rest."

"I shall, and you do the same."

Isobel climbed the stairs and made her way to the room that was hers for the night. Glancing at the bed she shook her head. It was only a double, but it looked enormous to her when she thought of the prospect of sleeping alone. This is ludicrous, Isobel. You slept alone every night of your life for twenty years. Pull yourself together, woman. She thought a bath might help, so she opened her bag to find her nightgown and dressing gown and when she did so she noticed a small box sitting on top of her clothes with a note underneath it. On the envelope was written Isobel in Richard's neat, precise hand. She opened it, her stomach aflutter.

My Isobel,

It is with trembling hand that I write these words, but I do not tremble in fear. No, my darling, not fear, but anticipation, a giddy, almost boyish excitement. For tomorrow morning, I will take unto myself the wife I have waited a lifetime for.

It has only ever been you for me, Isobel. It sounds trite, but I knew unequivocally from the moment we met that I would love you until the last breath leaves my body. And beyond, my beauty, for love has neither beginning nor end. You are, to me, all which is good, and noble, and pure. You are human, to be sure, but you are the finest illustration of humanity. You won my heart, sweet girl, with your stubbornness, if you can believe it. Your tacit refusal to believe prognoses of 'no cure,' 'no hope,' 'nothing more to be done.' You are a healer, Isobel. You see possibilities where others - myself included - see statistics and precedent and would push no further.

You won me with your stubbornness, and you held me with your grace. At your most acerbic, you are still kind. In your greatest joy, you seek to bring others alongside to share in it. In the profundity of your grief ... torment of the kind no one should ever know, you reached out to me in love. You had the fullest extent of my devotion years before, but when you placed your heart in my hands for safekeeping, you gave me life, Isobel. A reason to be Richard, the man, and not merely Clarkson, the doctor.

I had thought it passed me by, Isobel. The opportunity to know, and be truly known, loved and permitted to love fully and without reservation, both in spite of and because of my eccentricities. And then the woman I have always wanted, whom I never dared to hope would return my affections, reached through the clouds of her deep dread and beckoned to me. Took ownership of my heart and brought me to life with four words: 'Do you love me?'

Oh, Isobel, yes. Just as I told you then, I tell you now. Yes, I love you. Have from the beginning. Will to the end and beyond. I have seen the joy in your eyes when you smile, the anguish when you cry, the fury when we argue. I have caught the sunlight in your hair as you walk through the garden, have marveled at the streaks of silver - lovely to me - that mimic the garments of your mourning. I have held your beautiful body in my arms in happiness, in grave sorrow, and in whispers of longing yet to be fully realized. Oh, my darling! I am shaking in earnest now. Tomorrow, Isobel! Tomorrow I will discover the answers to questions that have had me burning for - I say this to you because you are fearless and slow to pass judgment - years, love. Tomorrow I will know how you look at me when our bodies join, how your hair, unbound, fans out across our pillows, how your body feels beneath me, over me, surrounding me, with nothing between us. I have exercised restraint until now, but after just a few more hours, no longer will I. I love you with a force that humbles me, and so I want you with identical fervor. That you have expressed longing equal to mine has me rejoicing already and emboldens me to express it to you now, knowing that you will welcome me with all of your being.

Remember our day at the jeweler's in York? You warmly embraced the customs of my culture when we chose the ring I will give you tomorrow, loving as I do the symbols that represent the everlasting love we share. But then you are Isobel Fiona, so those traditions are not so far removed from you, are they? Scots blood surely accounts for the fire in your veins! I saw this that day and telephoned the jeweler the very next, asking that he send it to me with your rings. Wear it in good health and rest in the knowledge that I have loved you, Isobel. I love you now, this moment. And when someday we are no more, our love will remain.

Your only,

Richard

Isobel allowed herself to cry, to laugh, to memorialize each word as she read the letter. She opened the box to reveal a dainty gold pendant in the shape of an infinity knot with a pearl teardrop hanging from the bottom. She fingered it delicately, delighted at the thought of putting it on with her dress in the morning.

After her bath Isobel slipped into bed. She picked up Richard's letter, reading it again and again, and wondered if he were doing the same on the other side of the village.

When Richard arrived home from the Abbey, he prepared for bed straight away. As he walked through the cottage he was struck by the oddest realization: my house is not a home without Isobel here. It had been a fine house, had met all of his requirements for shelter and office space for close to thirty years. Decades he had lived alone, and its purpose was utilitarian. Now, after only a few short months of sheltering Isobel alongside him within its walls, there was not a floorboard upon which he could tread without hearing her footsteps, not a dark corner in the place any longer for they all seemed to be filled with her warmth and light. He walked into the bedroom and immediately felt the absence of her, his stomach churning at the prospect of lying alone in their bed. He understood now the sentiment Isobel had expressed. He missed her, terribly. As he moved about the room, gathering pajamas and dressing gown and blankets in preparation of sleeping on the sitting room sofa, his eyes fell upon a small box on top of the dressing table. A note accompanied it, addressed to him in Isobel's flourish.

Richard, my love,

My love. Do you know what joy it brings me to write those words? I loved once. It was marvelous; heady, exhilarating, all-encompassing, and then ... Then I was alone once more, singly Isobel for as many of my years as I'd been part of a couple and yet ... those fleeting years of togetherness became the framework for all the desolate ones that followed.

I threw myself into doing, into my work and raising Matthew and it was enough. I made it be enough. And then my baby was a man ... the independent, resourceful man his father would have been so proud to see him become. And suddenly the realization came to me that I hadn't allowed myself the time to ponder who I was, aside from Matthew's mother and Reginald's widow. Who was this woman, and what did she want? What did she dream of? Did she remember how to dream?

And then I met you. Yes, you, Richard. It sounds like the stuff of fairytales, overly dramatic and romanticized to say so, but you gave me a reason to dream again. Of a world in which radical treatments become mainstream, and spouses no longer lose one another to diseases that could be easily eradicated, and mothers and their newborn babies no longer face the prospect of death in the same breath with which they welcome new life. Of one in which those noble young men who give their lives over into the hands of evil in defense of the rest of us are bestowed with compassion and dignity when they return home, their broken bodies forced to give up the fight. 

But you inspired more than merely professional ambitions. The calm resolve reflected in the blue of your eyes became the counterpoint to the turmoil inside of me. Steady, Isobel. Look around you. Indeed, I had no further to look than into those eyes when my Matthew, all that remained of the great love of my life, was wrenched away from me so violently and without warning. I should not have survived it, Richard. Not the loss of my only son, after the injustice of losing his father. I would not have, except that you caught me just as I was falling, gladly, over the precipice. You willed me to live when all I wanted was to die, and you loved me through it, nurtured me so that instead of slipping into the state of suspense that accompanies this kind of tragic loss, I have grown, Richard.

I see now. I see that we only came together in the time and circumstances we did because love was there, underlying it all, all along. I am a doer by nature, my darling, in case notice of that fact had escaped you. But I need a catalyst in order to be sprung into action. I suppose there was no greater gift my son's love could have left with me than for the loss of him to make me face the feelings I have had for you since 1912. It may have all begun for me with the beguiling blue of your eyes, but it grew in the way you sought me out as a confidante and allowed yourself to be mine, the way you fought for my involvement in the administration of the hospital ... against the formidable force of my family, no less! When I allowed myself to see what was right in front of my eyes, it was astounding in its simplicity. Isobel is in love with Richard.

How is it that I am found worthy of so great a love? I've said this to you before, I know, but not a moment goes by that I cease to be amazed ... Richard, how is it possible that the love - and the profound desire that exists between you and I - eclipses that which I knew with Reginald? It was disconcerting to me at first, made me question the nature and motivation behind my love for him, but in time I saw it for what it is. You and I love, purely and deeply, because of all the living we have done. There is no pretense between us, no false illusions of perfection. You know me. You are the only person who has ever truly known me. I know you, and I love you for all that you are. Your idiosyncrasies are my opportunities to bestow upon you the grace with which God has showered me, and I have heard you articulate the same. How then, all these things being true, could we not long for one another physically with intensity?

I have told you these things, and unlike you I speak with greater eloquence than I write. I will burn until I lay with you tomorrow night, but then I will burn brighter once I know what it is to be your lover. There is nothing in all my life, indeed in all the world, that I have wanted more.

You speak of our love neither beginning nor ending, but existing always, having had only to be realized, catalyzed and acted upon. Having lost love as I did, I know your theory to be truth. I can see that every moment of my life until now has been to prepare me for this one. You were in my past although I didn't know it. You are so very much in the present ... the smile I live for, the kiss on my lips even when we are apart. You will be my future, my constant through all our days and eternally.

In that spirit I give you this small token of my affection. I purchased these the day we found my rings and you shared with me the meaning of the symbols that encompass the nature of our love.

I am yours, Richard. Wholly and completely, in heart, mind, soul and finally, after just a few more hours, in body.

In love everlasting,

Your Isobel

Richard opened the box to reveal the cuff links Isobel had purchased on their visit to York. They complemented her wedding band and the pendant he had slipped into her bag that night. He would wear them tomorrow, to be certain, but he had the thought that he would now wear them every time cuff links were called for. He may not wear a ring, but he would wear these as a symbol of his belonging to Isobel just as surely as she belonged to him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wedding bells for Isobel and Richard!

Morning could not come quickly enough for Isobel. She had dozed lightly throughout the night, waking over and over again. Around 2 o'clock, and only because as a nurse and a mother her ears were long attuned to it, she heard George wake for his feeding. She secured her dressing gown around herself and went into the nursery. In a bold departure from tradition, one that Isobel herself had championed and encouraged, Lady Mary slept in the room with her son. The nanny looked in several times each night and would change the baby and bring him to his mother to nurse if he roused during her rounds. Tonight it was Isobel who lifted the little boy from his crib. Even at just four months old, George knew his Gran and snuggled against her immediately. She changed him, raining kisses on his downy head, his perfect, soft cheeks and his tiny hands and feet before swaddling him. With the baby tucked into the crook of one arm, Isobel made her way to Mary's bedside. Smoothing the hair at Mary's temple, she spoke softly. "Darling, I have him ready for you." Mary roused, sleeping as lightly these days as Isobel had tonight.

"Isobel?! Can't you sleep?" She sat up, rubbing her eyes tiredly and arranging the pillows behind her.

Isobel shook her head and smiled. "It's the best kind of sleepless, though. I'm all right."

"Thank you for bringing him to me." Mary settled the baby at her breast and relaxed back against the pillows.

"My pleasure. I remember these exhausting nights. More times than I can count I fell asleep in that position," Isobel indicated Mary's posture with her chin, "and woke hours later to find Matthew either still nursing or nursing again, and my neck feeling as if it were broken!"

"I'm afraid I can relate all too well." Mary smiled the satisfied smile of a nursing mother, and it did Isobel's heart good.

"I'll take him back when he finishes. Or you nod off, whichever happens first. Be comfortable while you have the chance."

"Thank you, Isobel. Will you come and have breakfast in here in the morning? See him first thing when he wakes?"

"I'd love to, Mary. If it's not too much on you, that is."

"Nonsense. I can think of no better start to our day, especially a day so momentous. If you can spare the time, that is."

"For you and George there is always time. And afterwards perhaps Nanny can take him while you help me get dressed?"

"Absolutely. It'll be wonderful to have a reason for joy in this house again, if only for a day." Isobel was the only person in whom Mary would confide regarding her grief. They had shed a flood of tears together. They would continue to do so, likely always to some degree.

"One day at a time, Mary, darling. Some will be easier and others more difficult. You're doing as well as anyone can in our position."

"Am I? I'm not always certain how well I want to be doing, lest it seem I were forgetting him. I can say - and I think you understand what this means coming from me as we know I'm not given to sentimentality - that I'd have joined him by now if not for George ... and you."

They found themselves in tears once more, though Isobel held hers in check for Mary's sake and as not to unsettle George.

"There are still days I feel the same. God knows I did for the longest time when Reginald died. I love you, Mary. You're a daughter in my eyes and I'll always be here for you, no matter what you need."

"You are extraordinary, Isobel. And so was your son." They each cried, quietly but unashamed in the other's company. Mary fell silent and Isobel saw she had dozed off, and so had George. She lifted the baby into her arms.

"Sleep now, love," she said gently to Mary, helping her to lie back down and kissing her forehead.

Isobel settled in the rocking chair with George against her shoulder, patting his back softly and letting her thoughts come, memories full circle of Matthew's birth, of lying in Reginald's arms as she nursed their newborn. Of Reginald's death and the darkness that nearly consumed her, of begging for mercy and God faithfully pulling her up to stand again. Watching with such pride as Matthew graduated from school, then university and law school. Coming to Downton, struggling to find her place in a strange new world. Meeting Richard and beginning to resurrect Isobel the woman. Matthew's near-fatal war injuries; Richard's steadfast presence beside her. Matthew and Mary, so beautiful and happy. Richard's inquiry as to whether she would ever consider marrying again, interrupted before she could answer properly ... but she never stopped thinking about it from that moment onward. The delivery room, and Richard letting her be the one to receive George into the world. Smiling at him in triumph, him smiling back, both of them knowing it was love they felt for one another. Hours later, Richard at her doorstep, she still running on adrenaline from the exhilaration of her grandson's birth. "I am so sorry, Isobel." Five words that changed the course of history, the direction of her life, forever. Begging God to take her instead, or take her home to be with Matthew, while simultaneously asking Richard to save her. His eyes, so beautiful, reassuring her. His arms, always holding her, anchoring her to him and to life and to God, though she wasn't ready to face Him. His lips on hers, breathing the breath back into her lungs, whispering prayers on her behalf. Waking up, fighting through the haze of death and mourning, reaching up to find him and growing. Growing well again, deeper and deeper in love unexpected every day. His proposal and her certainty that she had lived through all she had in order to find this love. Desire, burning up inside her, returned in equal measure, so very soon to be consummated.

Isobel laid George back in his crib and kissed his forehead. She pulled the covers up around Mary and knelt beside the bed in prayer for the daughter of her heart, asking that Mary's story would have a next chapter like her own. She then returned to her room and crawled into bed, reading Richard's letter again, imagining his voice speaking those beautiful words to her. She drifted off and woke, remembered, dreamed and prayed until finally, finally the sun began to rise.

It was still very early when Isobel rose out of bed and padded to the nursery, but she was well acquainted with the hours kept by new mothers and their babies and sure enough, Mary was awake, sitting up in bed with her knees raised and George lying on them.

Mary looked up and smiled as Isobel entered, patting the space next to her on the bed. "Good morning! Come sit. I figured we'd see you soon and I've rung for breakfast. They'll be up in a minute."

Isobel sat down next to Mary and instantly transformed from nervous bride to adoring grandmother. "Good morning to you both! How did he do for the rest of the night?"

"He slept after the feeding you helped with, all the way through to about twenty minutes ago. It was glorious. How did you fare?"

Isobel shrugged. She had expected a difficult night and so it wasn't a surprise. "No differently than I'd anticipated. It's rather wonderful once again to be kept awake by excitement."

"You give me hope, Isobel," Mary said, a tiny smile pulling at her lips.

"My darling girl, as long as there is breath in your body you've always reason to hope."

Their breakfast arrived and the two women took it in shifts, Isobel getting George dressed and playing with him while Mary ate and then reversing roles. It was as she handed George off to his nanny, ready now to dress for the wedding that her stomach flipped with nervous excitement. "I will see you at the church," she whispered to George as she kissed him one last time.

"Mama insists that this all take place in her dressing room, so we've had Anna bring all the clothes there," Mary said, hooking her arm through Isobel's as they left the nursery.

"There's just one thing I need to get from my room," Isobel said, and they stopped on their way so that she could pick up the necklace and along with it Richard's letter.

"What is this?" Mary teased, seeing the love-struck look on Isobel's face.

Isobel smiled and her cheeks flushed. "From Richard. He slipped it into my bag and I found it when I was changing for bed, so the ladies' maids wouldn't have known about it yet. I'll show you once we're all together."

They entered the dressing room to find Edith and Cora there, sipping tea and talking.

"There's the bride!" Cora's eyes smiled as she embraced Isobel and Edith stood to do likewise, kissing her cheek. "I'll just ring for Anna and Baxter."

"I wonder whether ... " Isobel began, and the ladies turned to look at her, "I know that Mrs. Hughes has been given the day off, as she will be our guest today. We've struck up a friendship, she and I, and I wonder if we might ask her to join us now?" Mary's expression registered shock for a split second, but as it was her beloved mother-in-law's day she covered it. Cora and Edith looked at one another and nodded, delighted at the prospect.

"Of course she should join us," Cora agreed. "I'll just telephone down and ask after her."

Anna and Baxter came up moments later, and with them Mrs. Hughes.

"Good morning, Mrs. Crawley ... Mrs. Clarkson ... heavens, I'm not sure what I should call you right now," said Mrs. Hughes with a laugh that was contagious.

"It's Isobel, please! You're my friend! We are Elsie and Isobel in private ... no sense standing on ceremony now!"

Mrs. Hughes glanced at Cora, Mary and Edith, uncertain what was proper, but she was here for Isobel, her friend. "Very well then. Good morning, Isobel! How is our bride?"

"Oh, beside herself, I should think," Mary teased. "I will say she was awfully good company in the middle of the night."

"Didn't you sleep, Isobel?" Cora asked, concerned.

"Some," Isobel said, trying to sound convincing. "As I told Mary, it was a good kind of sleepless. Like a child on Christmas Eve."

"Well now, you've got to be at the church in an hour, my dear, so let's commence." Cora had looked for an opportunity to take charge of some aspect of the wedding, and Isobel had happily given her the gathering of the ladies. Isobel saw it as Cora's attempt to extend the olive branch after the two women had clashed over the running of the convalescent home during the war.

"First things first, I think ... Isobel received a gift from her groom last night, and she said she would show us once we had all gathered," Mary said. It pleased Isobel so greatly to see Mary happy, if only for the day. It wouldn't last and her mourning was far from over, but Isobel had to believe it meant Mary was on an upward slope again.

"Yes, Isobel, our curiosity has been piqued. What is this gift Dr. Clarkson has given you?" Cora asked.

Isobel showed them the necklace and they all made over it, exclaiming at its beauty. She and Mrs. Hughes exchanged a knowing look. "Oh, Isobel, this is exquisite. And deeply meaningful to the two of you, I sense." At the questioning looks of the other ladies, she continued. "This is an infinity knot. In Dr. Clarkson's and my culture, it symbolizes the concept of endlessness. I suspect that it has very special significance to Dr. Clarkson and Isobel, but that's her story to share."

Isobel beamed, only too happy to share the story. "Richard often speaks of our love having no beginning and no end, as though it has always existed, waiting only on time and circumstance. It's more than simply a lovely notion. I can look back on my life now and see that every detail has in some way prepared me for this, for loving him. I'm so very, very blessed, and as I said to Mr. Carson last evening there's such sweetness in finding love now, after both Richard and I have lived and lost and risen from the ashes, so to speak. I appreciate every moment because I know so well what it's like not to have them. That's our story, Richard's and mine. And he's - well, we've both - symbolized it with beautiful jewelry. You'll see what I mean by the time the day is over."

"It's simply lovely, Isobel," Edith gushed. "And I wonder, have you got it all? Something old?"

"Richard's great-grandmother's diamond," Isobel supplied, examining her ring.

"Your necklace is something new," Edith continued, "and as to something borrowed, I have the loveliest pearl earrings that would complement it perfectly, if you'd like."

"Thank you, Edith," Isobel agreed, "that's most gracious of you."

"Anna, would you go find them? Do you know the ones I mean?" Edith asked.

Anna nodded. "The teardrop pearls. Of course, m'lady."

"And as far as something blue ... " Cora picked up a box and handed it to Isobel. She lifted the lid to find an elegant silk negligée in a shade of blue to rival the summer sky. It was sheer, with exquisite lace detailing at the bodice and thin straps. There was a matching robe, and both fell to just above her knees when Isobel held them to herself. "This is obviously for later," Cora explained, "but it still counts!"

Isobel's initial reaction was one of shock. She certainly had no reservations about intimacy with her soon-to-be husband, but it was strange to her to think of others' awareness of that aspect of their relationship. Cora's eyes met Isobel's, and Isobel understood the sisterhood to which they both belonged. Two grieving mothers, each in love with men committed to treasuring their hearts in convalescence.

"Dr. Clarkson loves you so much, Isobel, and I know how desperately you love him. Let him. It will go so far toward your healing."

"Thank you, Cora. It's positively stunning. I suspect this will be what he remembers most fondly about today!" They laughed and Isobel stood, embracing Cora. They squeezed each other's shoulders enduringly as another bit of unspoken communication passed between them.

Edith dressed first, helped Isobel on with her jewelry, and made to leave. Cora nodded to her daughter and Isobel looked on, a question in her eyes. "I've a bit of a ... favor to do for a friend. I'll see you at the church, Isobel. Tom will drive you." She dropped a kiss on Isobel's cheek and, with a peculiar smile, took her leave of the group.

Isobel didn't have much time to ponder Edith's mysterious exit, as Baxter and Anna began to fuss over her hair and makeup and the next thing she knew it she was being helped into her corset ("Yes," she'd sighed at the ladies' surprised looks, "a return to this infernal contraption, just for today. The look of the dress is much improved by it") and then into the dress. She was fastened into it and the room fell silent. The body of the dress was done in a blush silk taffeta with a bodice gathered and finely embroidered. The entirety was overlaid in ivory organza so that the sleeves were sheer, ending at the elbow in an embroidered flourish the same shade as the taffeta layer beneath.

The finished look was both regal and delicate; utterly Isobel, as the ladies concurred with exclamations of, "So elegant," "Perfection," "Divine, Isobel," and, "He won't believe his eyes." While not unpleasant it was odd for Isobel to be the focus of such attention. Her looks had never given her much pause. Without a doubt she enjoyed feeling attractive, as did any woman. Her son had taken great pains to express to her that she was beautiful ... he'd learned that from his father. Indeed, it had been Reginald's assertion that she was a great beauty. But it had been a lifetime since she'd felt like one. Only when love began to blossom between herself and Richard had attending to her looks begun to take on more than routine significance to Isobel again. As she stood in front of the full-length mirror in her wedding dress, flanked by her friends and family, realization struck Isobel. If she were beautiful, love made her so. Her memory recalled the kiss she had shared with Richard in the snow last evening. He makes me beautiful, she thought.

"I am so ready to see him, girls," she said softly to Cora, Mary, Elsie and the ladies' maids as she glanced at the picture made by the group of them in the mirror.

Before Isobel had time to get teary, there came a knock at the open door and Tom Branson appeared in the doorway.

"Tom!" Isobel exclaimed, holding her arms out to him. They embraced and he kissed her cheek before clasping her hands in his, holding her out away from him to take in the sight of her, the mother of his heart on her wedding day.

"Well, aren't you a vision, Mum," he said softly. It had simply slipped out without his knowledge. In his mind - in his heart - she was his mother, he having lost his to influenza while he was exiled from Ireland. It had been a crushing blow to him, his beloved mother dead and him unable to attend her funeral lest he be arrested and executed. Embroiled as he was then in his return to Downton with Lady Sybil, her pregnancy and Lord Grantham's disdain for him and all he stood for, Isobel had been the lone face of kindness to him, a refuge for his grief and anger. As he had been Matthew's best friend, she'd regarded Tom as a surrogate son from the start, and after Sybil's tragic death and then Matthew's they had become inseparable. When Isobel told Tom that she and Richard were to be married and asked if he would give her away, he had wept in appreciation of her friendship and care and responded that nothing would give him greater joy.

As their eyes met, Tom realized his slip and opened his mouth to correct himself, but Isobel squeezed his hands, shaking her head. "Don't you dare apologize," she whispered around the lump in her throat. "You have no idea the gift you've given me. Isn't it exactly what Matthew would have wanted, that you and I look after one another in his absence? It's an honor that you see me as a mother to you and I doubt it's any great secret that I've always thought of you as a son. You do him proud in the way you look after me." She ruffled his hair affectionately just as she'd done to Matthew's countless times. "Now," she said with a watery smile, "stop making me cry! It'll ruin the mystique these girls have spent the morning creating. I believe we've a wedding to get on with!" Isobel hugged the ladies, thanking them for sharing this time with her and left with Tom.

When they arrived at the church, Isobel and Tom were ushered into the vestry so that she would not be seen before the appointed time. Cora would be behind them in just a few minutes to attend to the last-minute details, but while Isobel waited now it seemed the seconds ticked by at a glacial cadence. Never much for sitting still, she began to pace. Tom stood at the door, taking note of Richard's arrival.

He stepped back inside, noted Isobel's current state and chuckled, shaking his head. "Dr. Clarkson has arrived," he announced and she looked up excitedly as if she expected Richard to be standing in the doorway. "Easy, now," Tom said, unable to erase the grin from his face. "Not yet. Just a few more minutes. In all the years we've known each other, never have I seen you like this! Sit down before you wear yourself out."

She stilled but couldn't bring herself to sit. "I can't," she said with a shake of her head. "I know this behavior is quite out of character for me, only I am going mad being apart from him like this! I agreed to all of this," She gestured wildly, indicating the church, "because Richard convinced me it was important that the family be included, but I wanted Gretna Green! I'm sorry, Tom. You must think me terribly impertinent. It's just … I'm ready. I've been ready. It's very girlish of me but I cannot wait to begin my life with him."

Tom put his hands on Isobel's shoulders to keep her still. He pulled out two chairs, one facing the other, and sat down in one of them. She took note of his steady, stubborn but gentle insistence and sat down.

"It's neither impertinent nor girlish," Tom soothed. "Any fool can see that you and Dr. Clarkson are meant for one another. It gives me great hope." Isobel saw the sadness that passed across his eyes as he longed for Sybil.

"Oh, my son," she whispered. It was the first time she had addressed him as such and there was a very fleeting ache that passed over her heart, but in the next instant she saw the clear blue of Matthew's smiling eyes assuring her it was all right; just what he wanted. "You're so young. Time is on your side. You will find love again. Hold on to hope."

It was then that Cora arrived with Isobel's bouquet and Tom's boutonniere. Isobel pinned the white rose to Tom's lapel while Cora fussed over her one last time. Cora stuck her head out the door and turned back to Tom and Isobel. "It's time," she said with joyful solemnity. Cora then went and found her place in the pew next to Lord Grantham, and Tom stood with Isobel at the double doors leading into the sanctuary.

From her position at the piano Edith took note of their entrance and began to play "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring." Isobel was overcome with delight. Adoration for Richard, for his thoughtful overture in including her favorite piece of music in the ceremony that marked their union; gratitude to Edith for her eagerness to perform this "favor for a friend."

Isobel felt pressure at her elbow as Tom indicated they should proceed to the altar.

"It's time to go get your groom!" Tom beamed at her. As she allowed him to lead her forward, Isobel finally caught sight of Richard, and were it not for Tom's steadying arm to lean on her knees would have given out. He was so incredibly handsome! Isobel had seen Richard in black tie countless times before, but this was different. He was dressed for her, and he took her breath away.

Their eyes locked on one another as she approached him, and he sniffed as tears formed at the sight of her. There was not a moment since he had first laid eyes on her that Richard had not been taken with Isobel's beauty. She was a rare gem of a woman whose countenance had grown lovelier with age. All these things being true, however, today she managed to surpass his every notion of her magnificence.

When at last Isobel stood facing Richard, she could no longer resist the urge to speak to him. "Hello, my darling. You look dashing," she whispered, never breaking his gaze.

"Hello, my beautiful bride," came Richard's equally soft reply. "I love you."

Tears welled up in both their eyes. "And I love you. So much I can't contain it," she confessed as their eyes smiled.

Reverend Travis began to speak. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony; which is an honorable estate, instituted of God himself, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church; which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his presence, and first miracle that he wrought, in Cana of Galilee, and is commended in Holy Writ to be honorable among all men; and therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly; but reverently, discreetly, soberly, and in the fear of God, duly considering the causes for which Matrimony was ordained.

"This is the way of life, created and hallowed by God, that Richard and Isobel are now to begin. They will each give their consent to the other; they will join hands and exchange solemn vows, and in token of this they will give and receive a ring. Therefore, on this their wedding day we pray with them, that, strengthened and guided by God, they may fulfill his purpose for the whole of their earthly life together.

"Who gives this woman to be married to this man?"

Tom gave Isobel's elbow a light squeeze and they exchanged smiles. "I do," he answered, and as he placed Isobel's hand in Richard's he kissed her cheek, whispering, "I love you, Mum."

"I love you, son," she whispered to him just before he turned to take his seat.

Reverend Travis continued.

"Richard, will you take Isobel to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," came Richard's confident reply, and he squeezed Isobel's hand.

"Isobel, will you take Richard to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and protect him, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

More certain of her promise than she had ever been at any moment in her life, Isobel answered, "I will."

"Richard and Isobel, I now invite you to join hands and make your vows, in the presence of God and His people."

Richard stepped just a little closer to Isobel and took both of her hands in his. She watched him draw a steadying breath and knew he was trying to hold his tears at bay.

"I, Richard Egan Clarkson, take thee, Isobel Fiona Crawley, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honor and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance."

This is real, Isobel thought. This is more than just a beautiful dream. She required several deep breaths in order to stave off her tears, but then she spoke with certainty.

"I, Isobel Fiona Crawley, take thee, Richard Egan Clarkson, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance." She then watched, wide-eyed, as he pulled her wedding band from his pocket and began to place it on her finger.

"With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship." Without pausing, he managed to look at her with the fullness of desire plainly visible in his eyes. "With all my worldly goods, I thee endow." Richard slid the ring fully into place and then, just when she expected Reverend Travis' pronouncement, he spoke again, turning to face the congregation.

"Reverend Travis has been kind enough to accommodate a slight modification in the order of the service," he explained to the congregation. "There are certain aspects of my Scottish heritage that Isobel and I hold very dear. She had not the slightest inkling that this would take place, so, without further ado, darling … here's to you."

The congregation expressed their delight at his sentiment and Richard turned back to Isobel once more.

"My Isobel Fiona," he began, "you cannot possess me, for I belong to myself.  
But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give.  
You cannot command me, for I am a free person.  
But I shall serve you in those ways you require.  
And the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.

"I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night." Another heated look passed between them at this. He continued.

"And the eyes into which I smile in the morning.  
I pledge to you the first bite from my meat, and the first drink from my cup.  
I pledge to you my living and dying, equally in your care.

"I shall be a shield for your back and you for mine.  
I shall not slander you, nor you me.  
I shall honor you above all others, and when we quarrel we shall do so in private,  
And tell no strangers our grievances.

"This is my wedding vow to you.  
This is the marriage of equals."

The congregation erupted in applause and Isobel just looked at him in wonder, no longer attempting to mask her tears of joy. When the applause died down, Reverend Travis concluded.

"Forasmuch as Richard and Isobel have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be man and wife together, In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

As Richard and Isobel turned to walk out of the church, she laced her fingers through his. Edith began once again to play "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring." They reached the exit doors and paused. Alone together for the first time as husband and wife, Richard drew Isobel tight against him and kissed her with the full measure of love and longing.

"My God, Richard," Isobel gasped. "You're my husband!"

"And you, precious Isobel, are my wife! I love you, Mrs. Clarkson." She wept at his pronouncement, tears of unspeakable joy at this most glorious of new beginnings.

"I love you so," she whispered against his lips, kissing him longingly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironically, this chapter was written just about the time the finale aired. Hard times for my heart.

Richard and Isobel had agreed to a seated brunch with their guests after the wedding, and they'd accepted Cora's offer to host it at the Abbey. The two had determined that it was the most effective way to keep the reception short. No slight against the guests, but Isobel had agreed to a formal ceremony versus elopement so long as brevity was the order of the day, so that she and Richard could focus on celebrating alone together.

As he helped her into his car on the way back from the church he whispered hotly to her, "I have seen you in many exquisite dresses, but none so lovely as this, Isobel. The only thing more breathtaking than seeing you in it ... will be helping you out of it." There was no mistaking the intent behind his proclamation and his words, in concert with the embers slowly building to flame between them for years now, had an obvious effect upon her.

"I'll trust you to put your money where your mouth is, love," came her breathy reply.

"Oh, Isobel, my beauty, you have quite a way with words," he rasped in response to her deliberate innuendo. He had been leaning across her, standing in the open door as she sat on the front seat, and he nuzzled his face against the column of her throat.

She squirmed, thinking she would lose control if he didn't stop and yet internally begging him not to. "Darling, you're not playing fair," she cried. "Are you absolutely certain we can't just go home?"

"Oh, sweetheart," he laughed at her. "I promise you we'll be no more than an hour, all right? Your family knows we mean to keep it brief. Besides, while we will most certainly stop off at home, we'll not be staying." He closed her door, came around to the other side of the car and sat down behind the wheel. The look of sheer bewilderment on her face had been expected and he was prepared with an explanation.

Isobel opened her mouth to question him, but he held up a hand to quiet her. "We've tickets on the 2 o'clock train to London. Before you ask, no, we'll not be staying at Grantham House. I've booked us into the Ritz and room service will bring up dinner when we check in. I know how you love Handel's Messiah, and tomorrow we shall be attending a matinée performance by the Royal Choral Society."

Isobel was well and truly overwhelmed. Richard watched her open her mouth to speak and then fail to find the words several times. Finally she sputtered, "Choral Society?! But they perform at- "

Richard smiled. He knew where she was going. "The Royal Albert Hall. Yes, I know."

"Richard, you ... you did all this? The family didn't put you up to it? They didn't interfere? Is that what I am to understand?"

Richard couldn't help but chuckle. Befuddled Isobel was utterly endearing to him. Her usual cool elegance gone, now she was pure reaction.

"My beautiful one, I married you. They didn't. Yes, I made all the arrangements."

"But ... Richard, all of this must have cost you a fortune! I didn't ... I don't ... My love is not for sale, you know. It's yours for the taking, to the utmost. Always."

"Isobel, I have the greatest admiration for you. I know that you have lived with much and you have with little and that it hasn't changed who you are. This is a longer conversation than we ought to undertake on our wedding day, but ... My love, I have been a man alone for most of my career. There is little I require, and even my pastimes are not particularly costly. I have laid aside most of my earnings for the simple fact there was no reason to spend them. The details are for another day, but suffice it to say that the funds are of no concern. At last I have someone with whom to indulge in those things I never thought I would, and I plan to do exactly that."

Isobel blinked, synthesizing this new information and trying to decide how she felt about it. Richard was right, most of the details were a conversation to be had another day. Richard regarded her face as she took it all in. The subtle widening and narrowing of her eyes, the tiny furrow between her brows that appeared and disappeared, the small twitches of the corners of her lips. He knew he would enjoy immensely watching her beautifully expressive visage all of their days.

She turned to look at him and raised a hand to his face, brushing the pad of her thumb across his lips simply because she could now, boldly and without apology. "I'm proud of you, my love," she smiled, and then she kissed those lips she had just touched. "You've done well for yourself and I shall rather enjoy watching you enjoy the fruits of your labor."

Richard said a silent prayer of thanksgiving to God for giving him this woman. Isobel had been a wife before and she knew well the powerful impact of those four words - "I'm proud of you" - upon a husband. It was as if his life's work suddenly took on new meaning. Not that he didn't derive satisfaction from seeing sick patients recover and delivering new lives into the world, but even that had its monotony at times when there was no one with whom to share it. But now ... Now he saw that Isobel had taken notice of his work, that she respected him for it and trusted him to care for her, for them. And he would bet she had no idea of the gift she'd given him, as it cost her nothing to say it. That was Isobel ... whatever she gave to him, she gave it with abandon

Richard kissed Isobel with a force that stole the breath right out of her lungs. "My darling," he said, overcome with love and pride, "I have most certainly married up!"

The brunch was a lovely affair, informal at Richard and Isobel's request. The food had all been catered, ordered up from the shops in the village. It was important to the couple that the staff at the Abbey feel as little impact as possible upon their workload as a result of the wedding. There was fresh fruit along with a delectable array of pastries and quiches and tea, and Isobel and Richard were glad of the opportunity for a bite to eat as neither had been able to manage much that morning or the previous evening.

The couple stayed close by one another for the duration, reveling in the fact that they could now. Isobel's hand rested at Richard's elbow while they stood and talked with the family. She looked up at him with adoration from beneath her lovely long lashes as one after another of them made mention to him how moved they were by his Scottish vows. That look sent the most minuscule of electric shocks up his spine as he imagined her curls falling down around her shoulders while she lay wrapped in nothing but the bedsheets, looking at him that way.

His hand rested at the small of her back, lingering there as she showed her wedding band to the ladies. He hated the fact that he couldn't feel her through the whalebone of her corset, couldn't knead the muscles there, which he knew would be tight and painful as a result of being bound up once more when that was no longer her custom. He looked at her and she read the concern and frustration in his eyes. She nodded as if to say, 'I know. It's all right. Soon.' and pressed her lips to his because it was her right to do so now.

It was refreshing, particularly for Richard, to beg off from their own party. He had insisted upon including Isobel's family and their friends in celebrating their matrimony, and he was glad for every moment of their morning. But although it was a small gathering of people, it was still a far greater number than he was accustomed to or comfortable with for very long at a time. He felt positively drained of energy by the end of the hour and was ever so grateful that his bride caught the look in his eyes and quietly informed Lord and Lady Grantham that they'd be taking their leave.

"If I may have your attention," Lord Grantham spoke in his gentle but confident manner, "Doctor and Mrs. Clarkson will be saying their goodbyes now, if we could all make our way outside to see them off."

Isobel and Richard walked ahead of the party, hand in hand down the grand staircase and out the front door. Isobel's heart began beating furiously, and she found herself feeling once more like a silly, bashful bride. Richard noted the uptick in her pulse and the curious expression on her face and whispered to her, "Whatever it is, Bel, it's not silly."

She sighed as she failed to hold back a sob, joyful tears spilling over once again. "I just had the thought that our life begins right now. This moment. But truly it began the night you saved me ... from dying alongside my son. Either way, it's serendipity of the most wondrous kind. I'm yours, Richard!" They stood by the car while the group was gathering and Richard, impervious to the lack of solitude, took Isobel in a firm embrace. She buried her face in his neck and he cradled the back of her head.

"I told you it wasn't silly, my beauty. I have waited for you all my life. Forever begins now," he whispered so that only she could hear. She heard - and felt - the quiver in his voice as he fought against tears in front of the gathering. She held onto him until his breathing returned to normal and then moved to stand at his side, leaning into him with her arm wrapped around his waist and her head on his shoulder. Clearing her throat, she addressed the assembly.

"Richard and I can't thank you enough for sharing this most extraordinary of days with us, and for the love and support you have shown us over the years, both together and as individuals. You cannot know the gratitude that fills our hearts when we think of each and every one of you. We are honored and humbled that you are our family and friends."

Most of the group said their goodbyes from where they stood, understanding the couple's need to make their train. But Mary brought George to Isobel for one last cuddle before they would be apart for a few days. She gathered him close, drinking in his sweet baby scent, treasuring the feel of him in her arms. Tom brought Sybbie up for a hug and kiss from her "Nana Bel," as the little girl had christened her, and then he caught Isobel up in an embrace of his own.

"Don't worry about a thing, Mum. I'll mind the house until you return. I love you and I wish you and Dr. Clarkson every happiness."

"Thank you, son. I am ever so grateful to you for all you do and all you are. I love you."

Isobel's interactions just prior to she and Richard's departure were sweet while Richard's was at once shocking and gratifying. The Dowager approached him and it was all he could do to keep his mouth from dropping open.

"Lady Grantham?" He managed.

"At ease, Dr. Clarkson, I mean you no harm. I've only to say that you will have your hands rather full now with Isobel, but be that as it may I could not be more pleased with her choice. Were it not for you ... " Violet lowered her voice and looked around to be certain no one was in earshot, "Isobel would not have survived the loss of Matthew. The pair of you are very well matched. And while I've no doubt you will tell your wife of our conversation, I trust it will go no further than the three of us, hmm?" And she smiled at him. Genuinely smiled. It would not have been obvious to anyone else, but to Richard it was plain as day.

"Of course, Lady Grantham. Isobel and I are most grateful for your presence with us today. Discretion is the hallmark of my profession, so you've no cause for concern in that regard." And he nodded his head in acknowledgment of his comprehension.

Their farewells said, Richard helped Isobel into the car. Her pulse began to race again and she knew it was pointless to masquerade. "We're going home, Richard! I know we're not staying, but ... it'll be our first time in our house as husband and wife."

She was leaning on him as he drove and he squeezed her tightly with the arm he had around her. "Oh, Isobel," he said, captivated by the purity of her heart, "do you know what a gift it is to me, your sense of wonder at all of these firsts of ours, when you've had them before?"

She pressed her lips against the shoulder of his jacket, and he felt the heat through the many layers of fabric. "But I've never had them with you, beloved," she replied with conviction. She spent the remainder of the ride with her face turned into his shoulder, lips rooted to their spot.

They arrived at the cottage and Richard looked at Isobel, carefully unwinding his arm from around her. He came around to open her door and clasped her hand in his. As he unlocked the front door she allowed herself the opportunity to savor the significance of the moment. My husband. My husband! We're home. Richard ushered Isobel through the door and stepped inside, closing it behind himself.

Their eyes met and she took a tiny step backwards, effectively backing herself into the door and silently beckoning him closer with outstretched arms. He closed the distance between them and she watched the limpid blue of his eyes turn dark with intent as he stared at her lips. He caught her wrists in his hands, not missing the rapidity of her pulse, and held them against the door, one on either side of her head.

"Isobel," Richard rasped, his lips so close to her own that she could feel her name on them.

"Yes." Her reply was a statement, not a question.

"Mine," came the low rumble of his voice again.

"Yes." She was not giving consent, for it had been given, both earlier that morning and on the evening when first their lips met. Nor was she yielding to him, for her need of him was equal.

"Say it." His voice was rough and the edge sent chills down her spine. He was not commanding, for he knew that the strengths of both her desire and her will matched his own. He waited, his gaze fixed upon her beautiful mouth.

"Yours," she declared, and by the lilt in her voice at the very end he knew there was more to come. Silently she willed him to meet her eyes and when he did she proclaimed, "And you're mine."

He fairly growled at her words, ducking his head and taking her lips in a searing kiss. She moaned into his mouth, making no effort to conceal it. It was she who slipped her tongue between his lips first and he broke the kiss long enough to swear softly before meeting her intensity. When their lungs began to burn with the need for air, Richard released Isobel's wrists, slowly tracing his fingertips down her arms and over her sides, deliberately brushing the sides of her breasts.

"God," she cried, having waited endlessly for him to touch her there. "Upstairs."

Richard nodded, taking her hand and leading the way as she trailed close behind him. Their ascent of the stairs seemed never to end. When did they multiply? Richard bit his lip to keep from cursing.

When they finally reached the bedroom, Richard took Isobel in his arms just inside the doorway. He ran his hands up and down the sheer sleeves of her gown, wondering how the sensation could be so provocative when he wasn't even touching bare skin yet. He concluded it was her reaction to his touch - head thrown back, lips slightly parted, breathing rapid and erratic - that made it so.

"Isobel, my love, we don't have much time now but with the few moments we do have ... "

"I know. Richard, I want ... I need to touch you. I need you to touch me." Hearing her speak so freely about her need for him had Richard fairly panting after her.

"Bel, promise me ... that you'll always be so forthright about your desire. It's maddening, love, in the very best way."

"Yes," she whispered just before kissing him slowly and deliberately. "I promise, darling man. Help me out of this dress and let me feel your hands on me." At those words he felt the ache of arousal coiling low in his belly.

"Good God, your mouth!" He exclaimed, tapping her lips with his index finger. She took the pad in her teeth, nipping gently. "Unfettered and lovely."

She turned away from him so that he could undo the buttons and zip. Every point of contact between his fingertips and the skin of her neck and shoulders sent jolts of electricity singing through her veins.

"Ohhh," she sighed. "You haven't even really touched me yet but that feels so good." He slid the fabric down her shoulders and off, the dress pooling at her feet. He was aware she'd worn a corset once he'd had a chance to hold her after they left the church, but seeing her in it now made him hurt for her.

"Oh, darling, why?" he asked, turning her around in his arms as he fingered the top edge of it.

Isobel shrugged. "A dress so exquisite requires it."

"I did appreciate that you cut an elegant line, but ... aren't you in pain?"

She sighed, but he asked and she would never lie to him. "Yes. Help me?"

"Lovely, I don' t... I've never ... " He fumbled for the words with which to tell her he'd never been this close to a woman's corset and couldn't begin to know how to remove it.

She looked at him wide-eyed as he continued. "I've ... observed. Very long ago. But I've never ... assisted."

"Ah," she said with a soft smile. "Well, not that I shall be wearing this often, but would you like to learn how it's done?"

"Aye, lovely. Show me, please." He smiled back even as his fingers burned with the need to feel her ... her, unencumbered by steel and whalebone.

Isobel took Richard's hand and raised it to the top of her corset, between her breasts just where the busks began. Of course she couldn't feel his touch yet, but the symbolism still made her draw a sharp anticipatory breath.

"You see this row of hooks and eyes going down the midline?" she nearly whispered, fully aware of his intense gaze focused on her torso. He nodded and she watched as his eyes traced the length of the garment, heat pooling in her belly as he visually caressed her there. She cleared her throat and continued, "The hooks release when I shift the one side underneath the other, but as the corset is rather inflexible it must be done as a singular movement, not one by one." She drew in another breath and released the busks, sighing in instant relief. He pried the halves farther apart and his eyes met hers in a silent question.

"Yes, like that. Off." And he pulled the offending garment off and away from her. His eyes took in the diaphanous satin chemise beneath; delicate, but still an impediment. He slipped his fingers under the thin straps and caught Isobel's eye once again.

"Lovely underthings, Isobel, but not the subject of my interest."

"One moment. You're overdressed, love." She made quick work of the buttons on his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders. He was completely still as her fingers released the row of buttons lining his waistcoat and she flattened her palms against his abdomen as she removed it. The heat of his skin suffused through his shirt and urged her on. She loosened the tie at his throat, dipping her head to kiss the skin she exposed. She continued in this manner, pressing open-mouthed kisses to each new patch of skin she revealed with every button that was undone, making her way down to the waistband of his trousers.

As her tongue dipped into his navel Richard realized he had stopped breathing. He brought his hands to Isobel's shoulders and gasped, "Lord, Isobel! Come here."

At this Isobel rose and stepped into the circle of his arms. He looked fixedly at her as he gathered the hem of her chemise and raised it slowly. She nodded. "Off. Please."

He remembered her words. I do so hope you still look at me that way once all has been revealed. I'm afraid I am not the girl I was when last I was newly married. As he looked upon his wife - his wife - for the first time, standing before him bare but for her knickers and stockings, every notion he'd ever possessed with regard to her body and its desirability was eclipsed by her, his woman, in the flesh. She was correct. Her body was not that of Reginald's angelic nineteen-year-old bride. She was lithe, slender. Strong, proud arms and shoulders, well-toned stomach muscles, all resulting from lifting patients and from her habit of never sitting still even when she wasn't working. Her hips flared the slightest bit, that and the almost imperceptible roundness of her lower abdomen the only proof that her body had borne a child. Because her breasts were small, they were still high and firm. Her legs were long and elegant and he found himself wondering what they would feel like, wrapped around his waist.

He'd gone silent in his appraisal of her, and as he brought himself to look at her face he saw her desperately trying to hold onto her confidence as she stood there with her eyes closed, afraid to see what he saw. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and he saw how she held her breath. He knew what she needed.

"Isobel, open your eyes, love. Look at me." His tone was gentle but commanding and she complied, her eyes fixed on his. She watched as his eyes swept the full length of her body, watched them become hooded and dark. She exhaled the breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

Richard said her name again. "Isobel. So beautiful." He held his hands out and she let him engulf hers. "May I tell you something?" He asked. She nodded. "You are aware that I admire your prowess at speaking freely. Especially as my lover." He paused to look pointedly at her. "Yes, Isobel, you heard me correctly. You are my wife; now you will be my lover. I have never been easily given to expressing my feelings verbally, but for you, darling, I'll learn. Shall I tell you my thoughts now, as I look upon my lover for the first time?" She nodded once more.

"I can't help myself, Isobel! I know that you are your own woman, and I hold you in the highest regard as such. But my first thought when I laid eyes on you was, she's mine! I understood your apprehension in theory. And then I saw you, Isobel! You are all woman. My woman. I want to kiss every inch of your warm, beautiful skin. I want to hold the weight of your breasts in my hands, to taste them. I ache to feel the curve of your bottom pressed against me. I want those long, slender legs wrapped around me as my body presses yours into the mattress. I want to know how you feel when I'm buried inside you. I want to move against you slowly, and I want to take you hard and fast. I want, Isobel. I want you. I love you so completely. Come." He held his arms outstretched and she came into them readily. Reminiscent of their embrace outside the Abbey, he gathered her in against him, encouraging her to tuck her face into his neck.

She spoke from her place against him, and he felt her words on his skin as much as heard them. "Beautiful words. Beautiful man. I know what it cost you to speak your thoughts to me, and you must know how I treasure it. I need that, Richard, and it's so unlike you, and yet you did it so expertly! I am the one who's never lost for words but to say that I love you seems so inadequate. I shall have to show you, I believe. And oh, how I want to!"

"I'm now cursing the fact that we've got a train to catch, though I cannot wait to go with you. We need only to change clothes and load our luggage in the car, however." He answered her inquisitive look with a sheepish smile. "Mrs. Hughes came down last evening and packed your things. I ... thought she'd know far better than I what you'll require."

He watched a smile light up her face as she whispered, "Elsie," in astonishment at the plotting of her two favorite Scots. "Whatever will I do with the two of you? Richard, how much time do we have now? When must we leave to make the train?"

He looked at his pocket watch. "Twenty minutes."

"I don't suppose you'll be traveling in these? They're hardly conducive to comfort." She fingered the waistband of his trousers. Richard shook his head in wonder. Just like that, his bold, brazen beauty was back.

"No, my darling, I'll not be traveling in these," he said with an amused smile. "What suggestion is forming inside that beautiful mind of yours?"

Isobel shrugged, feigning innocence. "Just ... " She let her actions speak for themselves as she released the fastenings and his trousers pooled at his ankles. "The best seductions are achingly slow, my darling. Just because we cannot finish now, certainly doesn't mean we cannot start." And she fixed him with a look that was positively salacious.

He growled in response. "Isobel! Suppose I tell you what I think of that, hmm? Shall I?"

She giggled. Oh, loving Richard was going to be many things. Not least among them pure joy. "Yes," she whispered against his lips just before stealing a kiss.

"I believe the precise wording was, 'Damn, Bel. Well played.'"

"Ah ha!" She stated happily. "Step out of those. Come. Sit." She sat down on the settee at the foot of their bed and beckoned to him.

He could not resist teasing her. "The ward is under your command, Nurse Crawley!" And he sat down, clad only in his undershorts, and pulled Isobel to straddle his lap.

"Mmmm, that's Nurse Clarkson now, Doctor." Her cheek faded away instantly as she came to the realization that they now held one another like lovers. "Ohhh! Damn the charade ... God, Richard! We can do this now!" She took in the look and feel of his bare shoulders, chest and abdomen, touching him with gentle fingers.

"Aye, Bel. That we can ... and I suspect we will ... with great frequency." He dropped his head, planting kisses to the side of her neck and downward, his tongue lapping at the hollow of her collarbone, eliciting the most delicious gasp from her.

"Can I assume that's to your liking then?" He whispered in her ear, repeating the action of his tongue on her earlobe.

She squirmed in his lap. "Lord, yes," she answered breathily. Her finely-manicured nails bit into his shoulders and he hissed. She realized what she'd done and drew a sharp breath. "Oh, love ... I'm sorry!" She traced the tiny crescent shapes with her fingertips.

Richard shook his head. "Don't apologize. It's quite alluring." His lips returned to the sensitive spot he'd discovered on her left collarbone while his hands moved upward from her waist, over her ribs and then gently covered her breasts.

"Yesss," Isobel breathed, "oh, Richard. Talk to me, please."

"Isobel, your breasts are beautiful. So warm and soft. I have wanted to touch you here since ... since I met you, if we're being forthright. You are magnificent when we argue, the way your breasts rise and fall with your increased respiration. I hope you won't be too cross with me, but I've deliberately begun arguments with you just to watch you that way." He continued to knead her breasts and she writhed against him, overwhelmed with sensation and unable to keep still.

"Love, I think you could say anything to me so long as you touch me like that, and I wouldn't be cross with you." She was breathing hard and Richard knew he'd uncovered one of the secrets of making love to her.

"So sensitive here, aren't you, Bel?" He whispered, kissing her where her earlobe met her jawline.

"Yes. And we're going to have to leave and I've yet to really touch you," she lamented. He stilled the movement of his hands on her breasts but didn't break contact with her, allowing the both of them to cool down gradually.

"You know, this beguiling woman I married told me that the greatest seductions are painfully slow, and she's right about a great many things; I'm certain she'll be proven correct in this case as well." He made her meet his eyes and they smiled at one another. While he had eye contact with her, Richard continued, "There's time for all that, my love. We'll have all evening once we reach London."

"Just ... " She kissed his lips. "Wait, Richard." Kiss. "I love you, my darling." Kiss. "I want you." Another kiss, deeper, nipping at his bottom lip, and then he turned the tables and took her lips mercilessly.

"I love you, Bel, and dear God, how I want you. Come on, beauty. We need to get dressed." He set his hands on her shoulders and she moved out of his lap.

"Isobel." He spoke her name as she began to walk to the dressing table. She turned back to look at him and he smiled, treasuring that image of her, nude, moving gracefully through their bedroom.

"Yes, love?"

"My wife." He rose, walking to the wardrobe.

"Mmmm, yes," she said, "very happily so. You want my opinion?"

"Yes."

She was still bare and she stepped up behind him, wrapping her arms around him. "No suit. Grey jumper. White shirt. Black trousers. This tie." She reached beyond him and pulled an emerald green tie off the rack. "Dashing and comfortable. And yes, I was looking for an excuse to touch you again. And no, I'm not sorry." He shook his head. He was going to enjoy the domestication of Doctor Clarkson. Very much.

"Thank you, sweet girl. You want mine?"

"Richard, I've been dressing for no one but myself for twenty years. It's flattering to know that you have an opinion at all! Please tell me."

He paused, taking her hand and placing kisses from shoulder to wrist. "This color. It's lovely on you." He fingered the sleeve of a plum-colored blouse. "And this skirt," he pointed to a dark grey one. "The cut is ... very becoming." He grinned at her, his eyes sparkling. "And for heaven's sake, no more corsets."

It was his turn to step up behind her and he took hold of her hips, pulling her back against him. His lips pressed hot kisses to the back of her neck and she moaned, pushing her bottom into him.

"Love," she said breathlessly, "if we're to make it to London, we can't. But the last thing I want is to stop!"

"You're right, darling. I'll go into the en suite to change. You can dress in here." And he kissed her shoulder once more before stepping away.

Isobel shook her head, catching her reflection in the vanity mirror as she dressed. She lingered as she took in the expression on her own face. She'd seen it before, on the day of her wedding to Reginald. In the photograph of the three of them, Isobel in Reginald's arms and just-born Matthew in hers. She'd seen it on Mary's face when Matthew announced their engagement and again when Reverend Travis pronounced the beautiful young couple husband and wife. And she saw it often in Cora's eyes, her heart full of love and admiration for Robert even after more than thirty years of marriage, fortunes squandered, children lost. Isobel knew that look. It was the look of a woman in love.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beginning with this chapter, I had the amazing fortune of working with a beta-reader who has become a dear friend. The difference is night and day between my raw material and the finished product after she polishes it! Incidentally, were it not for her, this chapter never would have come to be at all. CSotA, I love ya!
> 
> Richard quotes Song of Solomon extensively, and here's when I wish for more sophisticated text editing functions and/or mad HTML skills. I suppose you get the basic gist.

When Richard and Isobel boarded the train to London, she was pleasantly surprised to learn that their tickets were first class. She would have questioned the expense but for their earlier conversation, so she simply made a point of telling him how grateful she was for the private accommodations. In fact they were the sole passengers on their car. "Surely you didn't buy them all up, did you?" she asked, thinking she was kidding. His answer was to look sheepishly at her. "Richard! Did you?!"

"Love, it was a small price to pay for time alone with my wife." And he raised her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it.

He sat down on one of the seats - really more akin to a large sofa - and Isobel sat next to him. "Your wife," she echoed, grinning. The words sounded foreign – but oh, so lovely - on her lips. "Richard, I find it all very … overpowering. When I was about to recite my vows I stood listening to you and inside my head I just kept thinking, this is not just a dream. And now here we sit, and I'm your wife. It's incredible!"

He smiled broadly, thoroughly enjoying her. "Since we are ostensibly alone, shall I hold you?" he asked.

She nodded. "Please."

There was enough room on the seat that one of them could lie down if they wished. "You lie down, put your head in my lap," Richard suggested. He stood long enough to reach a blanket down from the storage compartment overhead. Isobel swung her legs up onto the seat and Richard covered them with the blanket. He sat down and she shifted so that her head rested on his thighs, her face turned toward him.

"Did you sleep last night, Bel?" Richard asked.

She hedged. "Not … really." He raised an eyebrow at her and she came clean. "No."

"Sleep now, my love. I'll hold you. You'll be fresh for our evening."

"All right. I do like the sound of that. Richard, thank you."

He looked perplexed. "For?"

"For this. The … the train; taking me to London. Your beautiful vows, asking Edith to play my favorite piece. For your touch, your kiss, your desire. For pulling me back from the brink of destruction. For your love." She reached up and traced the contours of his face with her fingers. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

"It is I who should be thanking you, Isobel." He caught her hand in his and kissed each fingertip. "To be found worthy of your love after a lifetime alone is miraculous. Sleep now, lovely. I'm here."

Isobel closed her eyes and snuggled in. Just before sleep claimed her, she was aware of Richard stroking the hair at her temples with gentle fingers.

When she woke, Isobel was uncertain of her whereabouts for a moment. What she did know was that she was warm and more comfortable than she could remember having felt in some time. She rolled from her side to her back and stretched languorously. It was then that she remembered. Richard. The train. She opened her eyes to look straight into his bright blues.

"Hello, sweet girl. Did you sleep well?" Richard smiled as he watched Isobel come awake. She sat up, stretched again and yawned, then leaned her forehead against his.

"Mmmm, yes. Thank you," she said drowsily. Richard drew her into his arms, rubbing her back in soothing circles as she gradually came back to herself. "May I return the favor?" she asked.

"You don't have to do that, Bel," he started to protest, but it wasn't convincing.

"Richard," she said, and it was clear by her tone that she wasn't buying it. "Honestly, how did you sleep last night?"

Richard sighed. One of Isobel's strengths lay in her ability to pull the truth out of others. He remembered what she had told him in her letter. Your idiosyncrasies are my opportunities to bestow upon you the grace with which God has showered me. "Our bed was too big without you. I ended up on the sitting room sofa. I suspect I got more sleep than you did, but not by much."

Isobel was awake now, and not taking 'no' for an answer. "Lie down," she urged, her hands on his shoulders. Richard conceded, though not without a roll of his eyes, and brought his legs up. Isobel repeated his kindness, draping the blanket over his legs. She found a comfortable position and he laid down, his head pillowed on her thighs. "You must be positively knackered after our morning, Richard," she soothed, running her fingers through his hair.

Grace, he thought. She accepted the fact that group gatherings and being the center of attention exhausted his reserves. He caught her hand with his and kissed her palm, then placed it over his heart.

"Thank you, Isobel," he said genuinely.

She leaned forward to kiss him. "Shh, darling. Sleep. I love you."

She held him until they reached London, reveling in the opportunity to have him this near. He would not be comfortable with her close scrutiny of his appearance, but my God, was he a beautiful man! His features were undeniably Celtic. His hair was a lovely silvery white now, but she imagined the days when it would have been fiery red. He was athletically built; his job kept him fit. When she had her hands on him she could feel the ripple of muscles beneath his warm skin. She wanted all of it pressed against her bare body. She felt her cheeks flush as images of him in his cricket whites - particularly the view of his backside in those white trousers - came to her mind unbidden.

As the train pulled into the station in London, Isobel kissed Richard's ear. "Wake up, love. We've arrived." She watched his eyes open, and she was struck by just how piercing they were. "My God, those eyes," she said softly, and they smiled at each other. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes. She leaned into him, kissing his shoulder. They alighted from the train and Richard tipped the porter when they were sorted into a car to take them to the Ritz.

Isobel felt a little wide-eyed as they checked into the hotel. She'd been put up there before when the family had come to London, but this was something else entirely. As was hearing Richard introduce the two of them as "Doctor and Mrs. Richard Clarkson." She squeezed his hand at this and he grinned at her. They were shown to their room and their luggage was brought in, along with their dinner cart. Richard tipped the attendants, who bid the couple good night and congratulations. The door closed and Richard took his bride in his arms.

"Alone," he whispered. "At last." He held Isobel to him with one arm low around her waist and with the other hand he cupped her cheek, bringing her close enough to kiss. Their gazes remained fixed one upon the other's until she felt the warmth of his breath on her lips and her eyes slipped closed.

Kiss me, beautiful man, she thought.

And then his lips were on hers and it mattered not that they were in a luxury suite in one of the finest hotels in all the world. She opened her mouth to him and his tongue caressed hers. She answered him with her own and thought, oh, yes … this is the kiss of lovers. Her hands wandered as they kissed, from caressing the short hair at the nape of his neck, to tracing his vertebrae, to his hips. She cupped his bottom in her palms and drew him flush against her, and he flexed his hips in response. Heat pooled low in her belly at this and she broke contact with his lips to cry out. He nipped at the pulse pounding in her throat and it drove her wild. He held her bottom and ground against her. They both panted, breath mingling as their foreheads rested against each other.

Richard laughed and Isobel pressed her fingers to his lips as if to capture the sound of it. "Isobel, if we don't eat dinner right now, we never will. How much do you care about that?"

"Not as much as I should," she admitted. "But you've paid for this and neither of us has eaten properly today…or yesterday, for that matter." A particular thought made her eyes grow wide and she giggled. "I should think our activities for the remainder of the night will be exhausting without the sustenance of a decent meal beforehand!"

So this was the kind of lovers they would be, the kind who can laugh at absurdity even as they are in the midst of passion. A verse wound its way into Richard's mind just then. Strength and dignity are her clothing; and she laugheth at the time to come. If that wasn't his Isobel, to the letter! He would find just the moment and tell her so.

Richard had ordered shepherd's pie for them, along with a lovely, smooth Bordeaux. They both found it refreshing to have a real dinner, the likes of which they would have prepared at home, in such a posh place. The meal was delicious and the conversation easy, naturally going back over the events of their wedding day and the previous evening.

"Your presence is there now, in every corner of our house, Isobel. In each room I could picture you there … and exactly what you'd have been doing. Do you know, you've made it a home to me now … finally, after thirty years. Your light and your warmth, your spirit, they've spread throughout the entire place. It was a suitable dwelling for me; nothing less but nothing more. Now I love it."

She shed a few happy tears at his admission, caught up in the imagery of a man welcoming love into his house and that house becoming a home. Then she stood, reaching for his hand as she directed them toward the sofa in front of the fireplace.

"For all that you disavow giving voice to your words, Richard, they are what I remember when I look back on last evening and today. Do you know what will play in my mind every time I start to want you? 'Put your hands on me, Isobel.' My God, love!"

He noted the rise and fall of her breasts as her breathing became erratic. He made neither effort to look away nor apology at his refusal to do so.

"And your vows, Richard! Mine being the name you cry aloud in the night. You have captured my heart, unequivocally." She drew a breath and clasped his hand between hers. "Look at me, Richard," she whispered, and the world stopped spinning when he took in the intensity of her eyes. She concluded her statement. "And my body is yours."

Richard lifted her to sit across his lap, kissing her hard enough to bruise both their lips. He lay her down on the sofa and his fingers moved to the buttons at her throat. They looked at each other and Richard had never seen such a mix of emotions on her face. There was such unfathomable love in the chocolate depths of her eyes. And wonder; disbelief. He could hear her thinking. Are we really doing this? Is this going to happen? And desire, an almost feral lust that made him feel equally wild.

And then he saw it: fear. It nearly took his breath away, and he didn't know where it had come from. She had been so bold and forthcoming in making known how she wanted him. She was still brazen in this moment. So what was troubling her?

He kissed her lips again and her response was needy. When the kiss broke naturally he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Tell me, Isobel. I want to take you to bed now, and I know you want it, too, but something is holding you back. I need to know."

He knelt on the floor as she lay on the sofa, and he kept a hand on her, touching her in a manner that was not overtly sexual but certainly not the touch of a friend, as his palm covered her lower abdomen. She closed her eyes against the sensation, as it served to build the ache deep within her womb that had been slowly growing for ages.

"I want this so much, my darling," she whispered. "I love you. I need to feel your body, inside me and all around me, and often. I know that I just told you my body is yours, and I mean it. It's me, Richard. It has been decades since I've been a lover. Obviously, I … remember how," and at this she laughed at herself and so did he, and the edge began to dissipate.

"All that medical training must have been good for something," Richard said softly, winking at her. She drew him to her with a hand to the back of his neck and kissed him sweetly.

"And I know you've seen most everything there is to see now, and I haven't driven you off yet. Only I'm afraid, Richard...because I'm fifty-nine years old and I certainly don't look thirty. And I don't know how my body will respond, regardless of how badly I want you."

He held his position, fingers tracing circles on her abdomen. With his free hand he laced their fingers together. "Isobel," he began matter-of-factly, "have you considered that it has been many years for me as well? Honestly, darling, I'm anxious. I can cite medical statistics that tell me how the typical sixty-year-old male body responds to sexual intercourse, and it's not particularly favorable. How do you suppose that affects my ego, when I think of my wife, whose beauty is otherworldly and to whom I have wanted to make love for ten years?"

She was silent as she considered his words. In truth it had not occurred to her that he might be just as fretful as she.

"Here is what statistics fail to consider: most men and women our age are not newly married, let alone in love. Those who have lost spouses mostly do not remarry. And I'm positively baffled as to where the distress about your body comes from. In our line of work I see many women's bodies, and none but yours is desirable to me. I've seen, Isobel … I've felt the way you respond to my touch, and it has been all I could do to keep my hands off you until today. How can I help you, my beauty? How can I assure you that you could never disappoint me? I love you, Isobel."

"You already have done, Richard. Each time we've discussed this you've been so accepting; so desirous and desirable. I believe that once we cross that threshold, I will flourish. I suppose it's a matter of loving me over the last hurdle and saving me from myself. And if you'll excuse me for just a moment, there's something I want to do … for your edification. It's also fairly terrifying, but to whom am I to give my trust other than you?"

She rose from the sofa with that look of determination in her eyes that was pure Isobel. Richard shook his head in amazement, watching her as she extracted a white box from her valise and then disappeared into the bathroom. He put more wood on the fire and turned down the bed, thinking back to the reading he had done on the train and finding determination of his own. He pulled off his jumper and his tie and set his shoes under the sofa. And then he sat on the edge of the bed and waited. Waited for his wife.

The click of the bathroom door preceded Isobel's appearance and Richard turned to look at her. The vision he was met with sent a rush of arousal straight to his groin. He did not know where to look first. Isobel was dressed in the blue negligee gifted to her by Cora. She had taken her hair down and it fell in caramel-colored waves that nearly reached her waist. Her arms were bare, shoulders covered only by the whisper-thin straps of the gown. The neckline plunged in a deep vee, exquisitely framing her décolletage, and the silk of the bodice was so sheer that it did virtually nothing to hide the pink-brown of her nipples. The skirt fell to just above her knees, exposing her shapely calves. She was altogether perfect and his fingertips tingled with the need to touch her.

"Apologies for taking a moment," she said as she worried her lip.

"Oh my God, Isobel … would you just come here?" he exclaimed, unable to stop himself from staring. She smiled shyly and stepped into the warmth of his arms. "How on earth could you come to me looking like that and ever doubt whether I would want you, beautiful?"

His reaction brought serendipitous, joyful tears to her eyes. Yet again, his love was mending shattered fragments of her heart.

"No tears, lover," he whispered, moving his lips over her cheeks in a feather-light kiss as he swept them away. "Lie down with me."

He moved around the bed to his customary side and she lay down on her side. They turned toward one another and Richard brought a hand to settle on her hip, his thumb tracing circles there. He felt the absence of the side seams of her knickers and realized she was bare beneath the gown. He moaned and she lifted her head to kiss him, open-mouthed and hungry. She began to unbutton his shirt and sat up halfway, leaning on an elbow. This gave him a most glorious view of her breasts and his hand moved slowly upward from her hip to cup her gently through the fabric of her negligee. He could feel her nipple stiffen instantly upon contact and he brushed his thumb over it. He heard – and felt – her suck in a breath, and she held it, waiting for him to do it again. Another brush of his thumb, and a strangled cry issued from her lips. "Richard, that's … yes! Oh, I need …."

"What, Isobel? You're magnificent when you tell me what you need," he crooned.

"To feel your bare skin. And your mouth…"

"Where, lover?" He rasped, as he and she both made short work of removing his shirt.

"My…my breasts!" She felt her womb constrict upon saying the words. She glanced at him, still clothed from the waist down. "Those need to come off," she commanded, and he felt himself harden at her assertion.

"Then do it, Isobel," he answered, knowing she would not speak so imperiously if she did not want the same from him in return.

Her confidence was growing with his encouragement. He had been so hungry for a lover whose physical need matched his own, and he'd known from the night when she confessed the same that theirs would be no marriage of companionship alone. If she needed encouraging, by God he would give it to her.

"Will you lie down with me again? Can we go slowly, just for tonight, just this time, so that I can savor all of it with you?" she asked, surprising herself at how sure she sounded.

Richard smiled, full of pride and adoration. "Oh, Isobel, yes. How I love you, sweet girl. " He caught her hand and brought her to lie down with him.

"Where do you want to be? What makes you feel most secure?" he whispered in her ear, gently taking the lobe between his teeth.

"Right now? Beside you … beneath you. That will absolutely change over time. Tonight, or at least just now, I feel more freedom to be bold if you take the stronger position. And I love you," she claimed his lips in a thorough kiss, "for safeguarding me like this. It's everything, Richard. You're everything to me." Her gentle hand at the nape of his neck drew his mouth down to meet hers again and she tangled her tongue with his. He moved halfway over her and his hand came to her thigh, encouraging her to bend her leg at the knee. He rested his hand there, at the back of her knee, and a sweet gasp of pleasure emitted from her lips. "That's good," she said softly. "Sensitive."

"You feel good like this?" he asked, caressing her there.

"Very," she affirmed with a nod. "I love lying in bed with you like this, finally feeling you. You feel incredible, and it's deliciously wanton to say it to you like that." She lifted her hips slightly, pressing her pelvis up into his experimentally as her warm palm came to rest in the small of his back. They inhaled sharply in unison at the sensation and her fingers began to knead him there.

"God, I want you," she breathed. Those words and the feel of her soft, shy but intentional grind against him caused his hardness to twitch as he pressed against her. "Yesss," she hissed as she felt it.

"Deliciously wanton," he repeated her words. "That's exactly how I would describe you, my Bel." He moved his lips over the contours of her face, tipping her head back so that he could kiss all along her jawline and her throat. She set about touching all of the bare, heated skin of his back and chest, gliding her palms over his well-developed musculature.

"Richard, you're beautiful. We're conditioned to use that word only in reference to women, but nothing else encompasses what you are. Your body, lover! Strong; fine muscles. I can't get enough of the feel of you." Her voice was full and silky, heavy with desire. It was musical to him. She touched him everywhere she could reach, noting his sharply indrawn breath when she drew her fingertips downward over his abdomen.

"May I tell you something, my love?" he asked between flicks of his tongue against the sensitive spot on her collarbone that he had discovered.

"Yesss," she whispered in answer to both his question and his kiss.

"I did some thinking today on the train," he began, and she nodded. His quiet strength was built upon the time he spent in thoughtful solitude, especially after much prolonged social activity. "I held you, and I watched you sleep, and naturally I thought about tonight; how blessedly long we've waited and how intensely we've expressed our desire for one another. And I wondered about that. Sexual desire is the longing for physical contact with another's body and the pleasure it produces. It is hedonistic; it seeks my pleasure, and you are merely a means to an end. But that is not our story, for it has no basis in love. "Lovemaking, however, erases the chasm between 'you' and 'me;' my body and my pleasure are yours, and your body; your pleasure, they're mine. And I thought about how to express this to you, my love. What words would reach you; you who are so eloquent of thought and speech? Certainly not my own. I do well enough in the area of thought, but it is in speaking forth those thoughts that I falter, unlike you." He paused to kiss her, gliding the tips of his fingers over the length of her leg from thigh to ankle and back. He grasped her hip, briefly pulling her pelvis flush against his again and her hand flew to the back of his neck, anchoring his mouth to hers. When the kiss broke he continued.

"I found inspiration in King Solomon once it occurred to me that your strength and elegance and confidence all come as a result of your faith, and that is where you run – to the Word, to Bach and Luther and Handel – when you need fortification. Why, then, should I struggle to find the words to reach your heart, and allay your fears, when they've already been divinely authored? So, if you'll bear with me, these are some of the most beautifully written sentiments regarding lovemaking in marriage, and they're precisely what I want you to know about my love for you."

Isobel gasped, and fresh tears came to her eyes at the same time as joyous laughter. She pressed her fingertips to her lips. "Oh, Richard, I think I know where you're going with this, and … my God!" She drew him to her, and they held one another as he kissed along her hairline.

"Is that a yes, then?" He whispered in her ear. She grasped both his hands in hers and looked at him.

"Yes," she agreed with a watery smile.

He slipped his glasses on - and it was not lost on Isobel that they looked incredibly attractive on him – and began to read, all the while keeping one hand moving on her body.

How beautiful you are, my darling,

How beautiful you are!  
Your eyes are like doves behind your veil;  
Your hair is like a flock of goats  
That have descended from Mount Gilead.  
Your teeth are like a flock of newly shorn ewes  
Which have come up from their washing,  
All of which bear twins,  
And not one among them has lost her young.  
Your lips are like a scarlet thread,  
And your mouth is lovely.  
Your temples are like a slice of a pomegranate  
Behind your veil.  
Your neck is like the tower of David,  
Built with rows of stones  
On which are hung a thousand shields,  
All the round shields of the mighty men.  
Your two breasts are like two fawns,  
Twins of a gazelle  
Which feed among the lilies.  
Until the cool of the day  
When the shadows flee away,  
I will go my way to the mountain of myrrh  
And to the hill of frankincense.

You are altogether beautiful, my darling,  
And there is no blemish in you.

He halted his reading to be certain she knew that this point was the most critical. "I can't express it to you any more clearly than this, Isobel. You are to me exactly as the King's bride was to him."

You have made my heart beat faster, my sister, my bride;  
You have made my heart beat faster with a single glance of your eyes,  
With a single strand of your necklace.  
How beautiful is your love, my sister, my bride!  
How much better is your love than wine,  
And the fragrance of your oils  
Than all kinds of spices!  
Your lips, my bride, drip honey;  
Honey and milk are under your tongue,  
And the fragrance of your garments is like the fragrance of Lebanon.

He paused to take in her magnificence as she lay next to him, and dropped his head into the crook of her neck as he spoke the next words right into her ear.

There are sixty queens and eighty concubines,  
And maidens without number;  
But my dove, my perfect one, is unique:  
She is her mother's only daughter;  
She is the pure child of the one who bore her.  
The maidens saw her and called her blessed,  
The queens and the concubines also, and they praised her, saying,

Who is this that grows like the dawn,  
As beautiful as the full moon,  
As pure as the sun,  
As awesome as an army with banners?

"Oh, Isobel, that is you, my darling. It's as if those words were written specifically for you," Richard said raptly. She was, indeed, her mother's only daughter; the purest specimen of humanity he had ever known. The maidens – the young Ladies Grantham – admired her greatly, and even the prostitutes, hard of heart and world-weary, with whom she worked to better themselves, had to admit that she was noble and kind. And as to himself, with Isobel in his life now, Richard could no longer recall any passing fancy he may have had for any other woman in the past. She was his dove; his perfect one, so unlike any other.

Before Richard concluded, he gathered Isobel in his arms, kissing her, long and slow and deep. "Look at me, Bel," he whispered as he laid her down again. She watched his face with the purest expression of longing and admiration.

Your head crowns you like Carmel,  
And the flowing locks of your head are like purple threads;  
The king is captivated by your tresses.  
How beautiful and how delightful you are,  
My love, with all your charms!  
Your stature is like a palm tree,  
And your breasts are like its clusters.

I said, 'I will climb the palm tree,  
I will take hold of its fruit stalks.'  
Oh, may your breasts be like clusters of the vine,  
And the fragrance of your breath like apples,

And your mouth like the best wine!

It goes down smoothly for my beloved,  
Flowing gently through the lips of those who fall asleep.

As he finished she took hold of his face, slipped his glasses off and kissed him forcefully. Their kisses became like flowing water, unending. His tears mingled with hers; he, who never dared mourn the losses of his patients but who had wept openly in the arms of this woman more times than he could count now. "Now can you see it, Isobel? The strength of my love for you begets desire equally as great, and you've no reason for fear, my beauty. My only."

"I see it, Richard. I know of no other way to answer you than with the words of Solomon's bride: 'I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine, he who pastures his flock among the lilies.' Love, you knew. You knew exactly what I needed!" She paused, making certain he was looking into her eyes, and gathered courage from deep within; from her faith, from the words of King Solomon and his bride, from the strength of her love for Richard. She squeezed his hands. "Make love to me, Richard."

He felt faint for just a moment. How long he had waited to hear her lovely mouth form those very words! He steadied himself with a breath and brought her into his arms, moving her to lie beneath him. If he was unsure how strongly to come on initially, she called an immediate end to his hesitation when she grasped his bottom in her hands, pressing his arousal into her as her hips lifted to meet him. He kissed her and they spent long moments softly grinding against one another, discovering their rhythm, building confidence. He took hold of her breasts, rubbing her nipples through the fabric of her gown until she could stand it no longer, and she pushed at his shoulders just enough to get his attention and spoke one word. "Off."

Richard smiled as he untied the ribbon holding the negligee closed between her breasts. He drew her to sit halfway up and slid the garment off her shoulders, and when she lay down again it was with his teeth lightly nipping at her bare shoulders. His eyes traveled the full length of her body, wondrously nude for him.

He'd said the word so many times that day that he feared it was losing its significance, but no other seemed to approach it. "Beautiful. Beautiful, Isobel." He recalled her earnest, provocative admission and his mouth latched onto her breast. He watched as her mouth fell open in a soundless gasp and her hands fisted in the sheets.

"Richard," she cried, "ohh, so good! So … Yes!" The intensity with which she responded made him aware of the need to take his time there. As if that were a problem! He thought, smiling against her breast as he recalled just how long he had yearned to be right here.

Isobel's hands wandered over the expanses of warm, bare skin over exquisite muscle, the feel of which she had only just begun to study today after so many years of want. She decided she loved the way his bottom filled her palms and slipped her hands beneath the waistband of his undershorts. Yes, she thought. "Time for these to come off, my love," she said breathily. She was rewarded with a soul-stealing kiss and he moved off the bed to stand.

"Do you want to, Isobel? You can," he said huskily. She recognized this, his moment of truth. She remembered his arresting honesty as he admitted to his own anxiety over their coming together. This was her husband, her lover, handing her his heart; his dignity, trusting her to honor and treasure it. She met his eyes, speaking with her own before she opened her mouth. Thank you, my darling. Trust me; I love you.

"Yes, Richard."

She repeated the action of moments before, her hands catching hold of his bottom, drifting lower, over the backs of his thighs; taking the material of his shorts with them. He stepped out of them as they pooled at his feet. He watched her eyes, the way they grew dark upon her appraisal of him.

"Richard," she spoke. That damned inferior word again, she thought, but just like him she couldn't find another close enough. "Beautiful. You are beautiful, my love. Come here." She opened her arms to him where she lay and he was above her once more.

He lowered himself so that his weight rested fully on her, needing the warm press of her against him; the solace of burying his face in the crook of her neck. She smelled of lavender and honey and he breathed in her essence, momentarily feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. Isobel had burned for this; the weight of her lover upon her. Had believed for so long that this kind of intimacy would only be a distant memory. And so she clung to him now, and whispered soothingly to him; all about her love and admiration, how she trusted him with all her heart, mind, body and soul, how she couldn't wait to give herself to him.

It was a benediction; precisely what he needed, and the greatest gift she could possibly have given him. He kissed her where her neck and shoulder met, sucking at the skin. She was salty-sweet and irresistible, and he kissed and nipped his way from her shoulders to her navel before she pulled him up to take his lips.

When she had kissed him thoroughly, she spoke her vulnerability boldly to him once more. "I want to touch you, Richard. I want you to touch me."

He traced the lips that spoke so forthrightly with his index finger, and she surprised them both by sucking the tip into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it. Richard felt himself harden further, a feat he wouldn't have believed was possible. "God, woman!" he exclaimed, certain she would be the death of him. It was not possible to want her any more than he did at this moment … and survive. He moved off her and she cried out sharply, mourning the loss of his warmth.

"Lie on your side, beauty," he said, and she lay facing him. He slipped his thigh between hers and hitched her hip over his, caressing her bare bottom. Another of his fantasies fulfilled, he threw his head back at the feel of her. She lapped at the pulse in his throat as her palm pressed against his lower abdomen and she felt the muscles jump at her touch.

"Sensitive," came her whispered observation, and he treasured the way she focused on his response to her touch.

"Touch me, Bel," he murmured, and at once she felt empowered and humbled by the sway she held over him. She cupped him in her hand gently and he twitched in response.

"Oh lover, you feel wonderful. Is this what you want?" she murmured.

"Yes … more, Isobel." He keened, and she wrapped her hand around him. They both exclaimed at the sensation, she enthralled by the heat and the juxtaposition of silk and hardness.

She stroked him experimentally and spoke gently to him. "Tell me, Richard. Tell me what you need."

"Yes, Isobel … like that … so good."

His fingers dug into her buttocks and she smiled. The edge caused the ache inside her to grow, and she wanted him to do something about it. "Need you," she breathed, and her womb contracted violently when his fingertips brushed against her inner thigh.

"You like that," he noted, tracing circles there that had her writhing.

"God, Richard, yes! More, darling," she panted. He opened her gently, tracing circles over her sex, finding her hot and slick and ready for him. His thumb brushed against her center and she swore indelicately. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, lost in her desire. This was all he had wanted; to be the one to absolve her of her grief, to fill the void of loss … and to stay forever.

Isobel felt herself building unexpectedly quickly toward release. Her hand moved over his, stilling him.

"Richard … inside," she panted, pulling him over her.

He smiled down at her, caressing her cheek. "Nervous?" he whispered.

She nodded, her eyes wide, and smiled despite the nerves. "Yes. You?"

He answered her with smiling eyes, truly amazed that they could be so frank with one another and the atmosphere remain so charged. "You've no idea, Isobel," he admitted.

She laughed mirthfully, drawing him down to kiss her. "Oh, I love you, Richard! I love what we have. I have never – and you know me – wanted anything so much. Please, lover."

He was amazed when he felt her reach to guide him toward her. He brushed against her entrance and they both cried out. They both stopped breathing, gazes locked upon one another as he pushed forward slowly, entering her for the first time.

Oh, my God, he watched her gasp silently, her body arching toward him as he continued to rock his hips until he filled her completely. Whatever he had envisioned this moment would be, imagination paled in comparison to reality. She was so tight and hot and undone beneath him. She was his, utterly.

"Jesus, Isobel!" he exclaimed, more in earnest praise than in vain. "All right, mo leannan?"

"Ohh," she gasped, rocking her pelvis up into him, "So much more than all right. So good. So full. Move for me, lover."

He bent to capture her perfect, magnificently candid mouth, his lips parting hers, and began a slow rhythm, pulling back almost entirely and then thrusting forward fully. Her back arched nearly off the bed and her hips rose to meet each thrust, pulling him deeper into her. "Talk to me, Bel. Is this what you need?" He whispered.

"Yes, Richard," she answered breathlessly, "just don't stop." And she gave him the shock of a lifetime when she took hold of her own breast, fondling herself roughly. She was so far above and beyond every one of his long-held imaginations, fantastically uninhibited, only for him.

"My God, Isobel. Do you have any idea how incredibly beautiful you are like this?" He exclaimed as he watched her.

Her response was to wrap her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper yet. Her sharp intake of breath at the sensation made him determined to move so that he would hear that sound again … and again.

She ached, deep inside, so deep. "Richard, you can … harder, love. More." She gripped his hips, her heels digging into the base of his spine as she encouraged him to let go and love her. "Will you … touch me? Just a little. Having you so deep is almost enough, I just need …" She didn't need to finish, as she felt his fingers brush against her center. He kept his touch light and allowed his pace to quicken, amazed that it was the feel of him filling her that brought her the most pleasure. She felt the ache inside her grow to a point she nearly couldn't bear, and he felt the foreshocks that he understood as her being close.

"Open your eyes, Isobel," he rasped. She did, and he saw hers clouded with lust. "Let it go, lover. Come to me." That was all it took, and she stilled the movement of his hand with hers and shuddered against him, crying his name and God's as tears fell from her eyes. The image of her in ecstasy because of him and the feeling of her contracting around him set him over the edge just behind her. She heard her name, and "I love you," and melodic-sounding Gaelic words that she vaguely understood but would have to ask him about later. He heard her murmuring to him. "Yes, lover … let go … beautiful man … I love you."

Isobel brought Richard down upon her as he recovered, stroking his hair and whispering her love and happiness into his ear. She felt him begin to move off her and tightened her legs around him. "No, love, stay. Please," she breathed. He looked at her in surprise. "I treasure this, the feel of you. Don't move."

He stayed right where he was, and the feel of her soft, elegant, welcoming body beneath his was sanctuary to him. He was complete now, in her. Home, at last. They caressed one another gently as their bodies cooled. Eventually he softened, slipping out of her, and she groaned at the loss of him.

"Miss you already," she admitted as he rolled off her to lie on his back.

"Shh," he whispered, gathering her against him. "I'm right here, Isobel. Always." She smiled down at him and he pushed her curls back out of her face, kissing her softly.

"I am so in love with you, Richard," she said. "That was – "

"Ours, Isobel. That was ours," he finished for her. She hummed her agreement and lay her head on his chest.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Richard sings Robert Burns to his bride.

Sleep easy by my side  
Into gentle slumber you can hide  
I, I'm waiting for the sun, to come up  
I can't sleep, with your warm ways

Forever, forever love  
Together, together love

You made me a woman tonight  
Dream until the morning light  
I, I'm waiting for the sun, to come up  
I can't sleep, with your warm ways

Forever, forever love  
Together, together love

Isobel didn't know how long she'd slept, but when she woke she was instantly aware of two things. The first was that Richard was curled around her from behind, both of them still nude, his arousal pressed against her bottom. Secondly, that her hips and thighs were sore in a way they had not been in decades. Both realizations sent tiny darts of pleasure to her center, and she pushed her bottom back against him. He was right there, precisely as she had longed for him forever, and he was hers. There would be no debauchery in making love right now, this minute … if she only dared to wake him.

Her body responded to the nearness of him and she arched back into him involuntarily. Subtle, Isobel, she chided herself, but before she had the opportunity to worry about whether she'd woken him, Richard's arm came around her, palm pressing against her lower abdomen, and he rolled his hips into her as he kissed the back of her neck, his mouth hot and open against the sensitive skin there.

"Hello, Isobel." She heard as well as felt his lusty voice.

"Mmmm, Richard. Can't sleep, thinking about us making love." Her voice was breathy and the press of his hand caused her muscles to jump.

"You want me again." It was a statement, not a question, spoken directly against her skin in his delectable brogue.

"Yes, I want you," she answered, moving her hand atop his. Their hips began to move in concert; small circles, delicious friction. "Ohh, when you touch me there ..." she began.

"Yes, I can feel what it does to you. I can take you just like this, lover. Is that what you want, hmm?"

Isobel arched her back, crying out sharply. "God, yes, Richard!"

He responded by nipping at the back of her neck, and the hand holding her to him slipped down into her folds to brush against her center.

"So ready, Isobel. Feels incredible," he rasped, and somehow her desire was heightened by the fact that she couldn't see him; could only feel. So many years longing for this, and now the feeling of her husband all around her was beyond the scope of every imagination she'd had, and she would not hold back on letting him know it.

"Yes. Do it," she cried, and sucked in a breath when the head of him brushed against her. He canted his hips and she felt him filling her; the long, hot slide and the relief at no longer being empty. "Oh, lover, nothing feels like this," she exclaimed. "Stay still, just for a moment. This is what I've wanted, Richard. God, this."

"Isobel, you feel like heaven," he breathed. "I love you, my darling. I love you so." He was desperate to touch more of her, but he settled for kissing and nipping at her shoulder blades.

"Oh, how I love you," she answered, rolling her hips against him. "Move for me, Richard." As they were, his movement was limited to rolls of his hips, but she moved against him in counterpoint and it was hot, and slow, and deep. The angle was incredible for Isobel, as he moved again and again over the very origin of the ache inside her. He alternated between stroking the highly-sensitized skin of her lower abdomen and kneading her breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Every one of his ministrations built Isobel to a frenzy and she writhed against him, unable to keep silent. He smiled against her. Even in bed, or perhaps especially in bed, her true colors showed.

"You're so close, Bel. God, you feel good. Let it go, lover. Let it go for me," Richard soothed as he felt her begin to tighten around him.

Isobel moved her hand atop his again, clutching desperately at his fingers. "Oh, darling, oh, Richard, I love you! I'm -" And she broke, reaching behind her to grasp his bottom, the only way she had of telling him not to stop moving. The force with which she came took her by surprise. It didn't stop. My God, it's never been like this, she marveled, unable to say it to him.

When the pulses slowed, Richard caressed her again, massaging her breasts. When she recovered, Isobel turned to look at him over her shoulder. Richard's breath caught when he saw the love and desire, satiation and yet still longing.

"Ohh, Richard. My God, darling. You need to move, don't you?"

She was right. After feeling her climax around him he wouldn't be far behind her, but he was desperate to move now.

"Mmmm, yes, Bel, but only if -" He tried to minimize his needs, but she wouldn't have it.

"No, shh. Come here, lover," she said, rolling over onto her hands and knees. Richard could not believe his eyes when he took in the sight of her, looking back over her shoulder at him from beneath her long, dark lashes, her beautiful bottom raised in the air.

"Jesus, Bel … no one but you," he stated with utmost admiration, and he knelt behind her and entered her in one stroke. Isobel was highly sensitive after her climax. She could feel so much, as if every nerve ending was attuned to him. If she had thought before that she'd never felt anything like this, then she now experienced yet another first. This was for him, to be sure, but for Isobel it seemed as if she could no longer distinguish where she ended and he began.

"Don't be gentle, Richard. Take what you need. I love this," she breathed.

Needing no further encouragement, he quickened his pace, wrapping an arm around her waist as he moved against her. Isobel panted, overcome by sensation. Again he was moving in such a way that he connected with her deepest need. She felt him struggle to stay with her and crooned to him, "Let go, love; let go," and he shattered. She heard him cry out to her, Gaelic and English and all of it lovely, and she sobbed at the beauty of him; so vulnerable, all hers.

"Isobel," he sighed, thoroughly sated.

"Lie down with me. I want to hold you," she said softly, and he lay on his back as she curled against him on her side, wrapping her arm around him. He took her hand, lacing their fingers together, and she was taken aback at the love in his eyes when he looked at her.

"You are an amazing lover," she said, looking straight into his eyes. "Richard, it has never been like this for me." Even now, she could feel him as if they were still joined.

"Nor for me," he said softly. "It's love, Isobel. I know you had it before and I never have, but it's the depth of our love that makes this so profoundly intense."

She nodded against him. "I can feel what you're feeling. Our souls touch when our bodies come together. I love you so much, darling. It's increasing by the moment, and it was already a living entity, all its own."

"I love you, my bride. And I'm never letting you leave this bed!" He grinned at her, his eyes sparkling. She laughed and traced his smile with her fingertips.

Richard was first to wake in the morning, and he found himself pinned beneath his beautiful, sleeping bride. She lay fully on top of him with her head pillowed on his chest. He smiled, recalling their evening and overnight activities. Isobel was a marvel. Oh, if only he had known that it was words she needed. King Solomon's; his. Whatever words would have made clear to her that she was the only woman for him, that she was ethereally beautiful and wholly desirable. He'd have said them back in 1912, if only he had known. My God, but we'd have had years together, he thought.

Though she was asleep he could hear her voice soothing him. Oh, but darling, we're here now. She didn't need to say it; he knew her so well. It was the way she lived her life. Yes, there'd been terrible, unfathomable pain. She was still in the throes of it, with Matthew's death. But Isobel astounded him in the way she took hold of whatever moment she was in, and made the most of it.

His nature was quite the opposite. He reacted to pain by locking his emotions away. If he didn't acknowledge it, that was nearly the same as not feeling it, or so he'd been telling himself for a good forty years. It wasn't healthy, and he didn't even need to be a doctor to know that. He had much to learn from Isobel's example, and he was elated at the knowledge that he now had the right to spend the rest of his life doing just that.

Richard could not help but touch Isobel; this treasure in his arms. It thrilled him to watch her sleeping soundly. She was improving in that regard from the earliest days after losing Matthew, but many nights still found her awake and restless. There were certainly more options available to him now with which to soothe her, he realized, once again unable to hide a smile.

Oh, last night.

He tangled his fingers in her hair, finding it incredible that most of it was still such a lovely, rich caramel. How he reveled in the freedom to wind her curls around his fingers. His fingertips traced her hairline and she sighed in her sleep. The sound was so beautifully intimate that it made Richard's breath catch. He knew her in this way now, after so many years of longing.

Richard registered the change in Isobel's breathing and knew she would soon wake. He wanted her to awaken on her first morning as his wife feeling as loved and treasured as she had the night before. He slid his hands down the length of her spine, from shoulders to hips and back soothingly. He began to sing softly to her, sharing words with her once more.

O my Luve's like a red, red rose  
That's newly sprung in June;  
O my Luve's like the melodie  
That's sweetly play'd in tune

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,  
So deep in luve am I:  
And I will luve thee still, my dear,  
Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,  
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:  
I will luve thee still, my dear,  
While the sands o'life shall run

And fare thee weel, my only Luve  
And fare thee weel, a while!  
And I will come again, my Luve,  
Tho' it were ten thousand mile

Isobel lifted her head from Richard's chest and blinked at him, smiling sleepily. He grinned at the image she presented. She looked extremely well-loved.

"Good morning, my bride," he said, kissing her forehead.

"Mmmm, good morning to you. What a way to wake up! Careful, darling, you're setting the bar awfully high for yourself. Burns on our first morning as husband and wife!"

"A risk I'm willing to take, my darling. God knows I wasted enough time. How are you this morning?" His hands reached down to hold her around her waist, thumbs tracing circles on her bare skin.

"I feel wonderful. Sore, but in the very best way. And warm, and loved. How are you?" She scooted closer so that she could kiss him quickly before he replied.

He returned her kiss with fervor. "Feeling like the luckiest man alive. Do you know how it felt to wake up with you this close?" The wonder in his tone of voice truly astounded her.

"Yes, I believe I do," she smiled. "A girl could get used to this." She kissed him again, and he opened her mouth with his, and their hands began to wander over warm, bare flesh. They spent long moments kissing and touching for the sheer fact that they could.

Isobel broke the kiss but her forehead remained resting against Richard's. "I've demanded an awful lot of you; the least I can do now is feed you. Shall we order up again this morning?"

He smiled gratefully, continuing to run his hands over her curves. "You'll forgive me if I can't stop touching you. You're a wonder, Bel. I'll order breakfast; why don't you take a bath? It will help the aches."

"Look at me," she insisted, regarding him fixedly. "Never apologize for wanting to touch me, Richard. You remember our conversations, yes?" He nodded. "I never dreamed I'd know love like this, and I want it all with you. And the soreness? It's delicious." He watched in wonder at the way her mouth wrapped around the word. "There's only one activity that causes that, and I rather hope to be feeling more of it soon."

He shook his head and grinned. "That beautifully candid mouth," he said with admiration, kissing her lips once more.

Richard rang down to the concierge for breakfast while Isobel soaked in the en suite's luxury bathtub. She had poured in a good measure of Yardley's lavender bubble bath and sank down until only her head remained above the water. Oh, what a difference a day makes.

She had been attracted to him from the first time she visited the hospital upon her arrival at Downton. True, what stood out to her initially were his eyes. The brightest, clearest, most crystalline blue; reminiscent, she later realized, of her mother's. One glance into the depths of those eyes had quite literally taken her breath away.

But there was more. His hands. A lifetime of caring for patients had made them strong, sure, and, at the same time, gentle. His long, slender fingers held the tiny hands of newborn babes, the syringe full of adrenalin that saved a young farmer's life. They held stethoscopes and wielded scalpels with precision, and now they had mapped her own sensitive skin, so long untouched, and had brought her pleasure the heights of which she had not known even in the marriage of her youth.

His voice. Oh, if she had known ten years ago the power of his voice to completely melt her defenses! She had worked alongside him all that time, had lived in his home for several months now, and yet she would never have known he had the capacity to speak such intimate words to her so vulnerably. In so doing he had reached across the divide between them and, for as close as they were, there was indeed a divide. No one was ever left to wonder about Isobel's thoughts on a matter. She spoke them as they came to mind, in a kind manner more often than not (such refinement had come with age), but often without much thought given to the impact of those words upon the hearer.

Richard, on the other hand … If he did not have patients to see or meetings to attend, he could easily go all day without speaking to a soul. His thoughts were his haven; his opinions well-developed, but not often shared unless asked for. When they had come together, her grief was so fresh and so deep that there had been little need for words. It had been enough that the arms that held her while she wept and the lips that kissed her tears away had belonged to him. She had heard him say clear as day that he loved her. Last night, however, she had needed to hear the words behind the feelings he held within his heart for her, before she could relinquish her fears and search out the courage with which to become one flesh with him. And he had delivered in spades and, in so doing, had freed her to become the wife and lover that he needed, the one that she so desperately needed to be. The gravity of what he'd done for her was finally apparent to Isobel. He knew her so well already, and this was only their first morning as man and wife.

She was just about to call out to him, to ask him to come to her so that she could express her gratitude, when he appeared in the doorway. She hadn't realized her eyes had slipped closed in her reverie until his lips brushed her cheek and she found herself surprised by the contact.

She opened her eyes and smiled. "Hello, love," she whispered.

He could hear the strain of barely-concealed tears and he reached out and traced the crease between her brows in that wordless way of his. What's wrong?

She saw the concern in his eyes and shook her head. "I'm fine, Richard. I'm just … struck by how much you love me, by how well you know me and the lengths to which you've gone to make it apparent." She sniffed, but the tears were there in the corners of her eyes and as one rolled down her cheek she felt his lips brush it away.

He knelt beside the bathtub and reached under the water, taking her hand. His expression was difficult to read but if she had to put it down to anything, she'd have called it regret. He laughed mirthlessly.

"I recall a conversation in which you told me what I'd have to look forward to in marriage and not to put you up on quite so high a pedestal because you're only human," he began and she nodded, pulling on his hand until he was close enough for her to kiss the corner of his mouth. He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose as well before continuing. "Oh, Isobel, the truth is I've been a damned fool. Why couldn't I see what you needed when it was so bloody obvious? Yes, I tell you I love you now. And I'll never stop telling you. But what if I'd said it all those years ago? What have we missed, and what could we have had? It's hardly the case that I'm so wonderful now. It's more akin to being slapped in the face with the knowledge of all the time I've wasted because I couldn't open my mouth and say the only three damned words of which I've ever been certain."

Isobel sat up. "No. No, Richard, don't do this. Come here, in here, with me."

Richard looked at her, dumbfounded, for a moment, but he stood, shucked off his pajama trousers and took her proffered hand. She slid forward, making room for him behind her. He leaned against the backrest and parted his thighs, pulling her back against him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and gloried in the feel of her, warm, wet, naked, touching him.

As if reading his mind, Isobel asked, "How does this feel?" She wove her fingers through his and rested her head against his chest.

"Wonderful, Bel. Like heaven," he answered, allowing his hands to smooth along the flat plane of her abdomen.

"And it's yours, now. Anytime you want; whenever you need. This is the time for us, Richard. As much as we may wish we had come together sooner, we weren't ready for it then. But we're here now, and we have this love that we're only just beginning to discover, and yet already it's so profound! If I had to wait this long in order to appreciate it when it came to me, so be it. No regrets, darling. Only love."

She couldn't see him smile but she knew he did. "I knew you'd say that. I suppose I needed to hear the words."

She turned around to face him. "Funny, that's just what I'd been thinking before you came in. Richard, first of all, I'm your wife now. If there is anything you need from me, you need only ever ask. And I know you're a man and you think it's a sign of weakness to admit you need anything, but darling, it's me. I have nothing but the deepest love and respect for you, and nothing's going to change that. Ask me, Richard. Words cost me nothing, you know that. And even if they did, you deserve to hear them. That was what I wanted to say to you. I recognize the magnitude of what you've done for me. How you've gone completely against the grain in speaking to me about your love and desire for me. You laid yourself bare to me, in every manner of speaking."

She kissed him sweetly before she added, "And in so doing, you have brought me into my own. All this, and we've barely been married twenty-four hours! Now do you see why it had to be this way? Would a younger couple have been able to withstand this intensity? I was half of a younger couple once and I can tell you unequivocally, I couldn't have."

He pulled her into his arms and brought her forehead to rest against his. "I suppose you have a point. I can say that when we met, I was certainly not thinking as half of a whole. You were beautiful, you were brilliant, and I wanted you. If you'll pardon my saying so, I believe we are a bit like your Matthew and Lady Mary, in that we needed time to learn how to love one another."

"But we differ from them in that the intensity between us is borne of living, and of letting life grow us each toward the other, even if it seems in hindsight to have been far too long in coming."

They were silent for long moments as they held one another, the warm water swirling around them. Richard was still processing all that Isobel had said and she recognized his need to do so. She ran her fingers over the muscles of his chest and abdomen with a delighted smile upon her face.

Finally he concluded, "And when I need to be reminded of all these things, I will ask you, Isobel."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad stuff sandwiched between sweet stuff. I've been told to warn that tissues would be good to have on hand. T/W for pregnancy loss.

Your love is devoted, like a ring of solid gold  
Like a vow that is tested, like a covenant of old  
Your love is enduring, through the winter rain  
And beyond the horizon, with mercy for today

They were alone together once more on the train back to Downton. Richard had some reading to catch up on, medical journal articles he'd been putting off. They sat in close proximity in spite of all the space available to them, Isobel with her feet in Richard's lap and a blanket over her legs. She was seeing an aspect of his personality that fascinated and puzzled her at the same time. He seemed to need the tactile nearness of her. When he wasn't holding her hand, he was rubbing her stockinged feet or brushing wayward strands of hair out of her face. But inwardly he had retreated into his mind, and she could see him gaining physical strength from the quietude. The long silences would have caused her anxiety if she had not been able to see him looking so content.

For her own part, Isobel was happy to watch the passing landscape, and soon found herself lost in her own reverie as she allowed memories from their last several days to surface. She must have become as absorbed as her husband, and eventually she became aware of him speaking her name.

"Isobel?"

"Hmm? Oh, Richard, I'm sorry …"

"Where were you just now? You seemed a million miles away."

She smiled, leaning close to press a kiss to his cheek. "I saw how happy you were, lost in thought and reading, and I suppose I let my own mind wander. I can see why you enjoy it."

He returned her smile and lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. "And whither did you wander, lady love?"

She blushed at his endearment. The act of openly expressing affection one for the other was marvelous, but it was an experience long-suppressed for Isobel. He did not miss her reaction and treasured it up in his heart as yet another captivating peculiarity of hers.

"Oh, far and wide, to be certain," came her reply. "It'll interest you to know that most recently I was thinking that you were correct." She gave him a sidelong glance, a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth.

"Ah, is that so?" He responded with amusement, just as she had expected he would. "You know you are rather well suited as my wife, Bel. You do wonders for my ego, all joking aside."

She moved to sit next to him and leaned into his shoulder. "Wonderful," she whispered in his ear. "Heaven knows you are long overdue for someone to appreciate you for the remarkable man you are."

This time it was Richard whose cheeks flushed red, he every bit as unaccustomed as she to plain-spoken tenderness. "Accept it; you're a giant among men," she whispered once more, quickly kissing the corner of his mouth.

He pulled her close, his arm wrapping around her. "Goodness, woman, you'll have me getting a swelled head if you don't stop. But all right, I'm intrigued; what is it that I'm correct about?"

"In your letter to me on the night before the wedding, you guessed that I may have embraced elements of your heritage so willingly because I had Scots blood myself. And you're right. Isobel Fiona; it couldn't be more Scottish, could it?" He shook his head, and in his eyes she registered a nearly giddy excitement.

She continued. "My mother was Scots. Fiona Brigid MacAlister. And oh, was she a beauty! Raven-dark hair, radiant fair skin, and those eyes! Your eyes; Matthew's eyes. George's eyes. You've all got them; that piercing blue that cuts to the heart. It goes without saying that I don't favor her. The shape of our eyes is the same, but otherwise I resemble my father. But Matthew! My God, did he look like her!" Isobel cast her eyes downward for an instant, momentarily feeling the loss of her son. But her sadness vanished just as quickly as it appeared. Richard watched her emotions run the gamut from delight to despair and back in the space of just a few seconds and was struck dumb at her resilience.

"Anyhow, Mum was Scots, and proudly so. She spoke to us – to my brother and me – in Gaelic as well as in English when we were very young. My most treasured memory of Mum was her singing the Psalms to me in Gaelic. In so doing she inspired in me both a deep reverence for the Word and a love of music, the great hymns. And she was forever reading Burns. Once I started school she no longer promoted conversing in Gaelic, but I retained some things."

"So the things you say to me … I have a kind of hazy understanding of most of them. I remember she called me a leanabh. My child; my love. And while I never heard the most private things she said to Daddy, she was not shy about expressing her feelings for him. They regularly called each other mo gradh … mo chroi … mo mhuirnin. I understand a good bit, but I couldn't carry on a conversation now. But Richard …" She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. "I'd like to be able to speak to you. It's a beautiful language, and there seems to be no end to the ways in which to express love."

Richard could not have hidden his joy if he'd tried. His arm still around her, he squeezed her tight. "I can teach you, Isobel. It won't be difficult for you. I think you'll find your understanding is better than you realize."

"I'd love that. The culture, the traditions, the language …they're all deeply ingrained in my soul. So your vows were much more to me than simply romantic parlance. You spoke directly to my heart on many levels."

"I'm so relieved that my instincts were right," he replied. "Marriage certainly seems to agree with us. I'm discovering more differences between us than similarities - despite the common heritage - but you've been most gracious in allowing me my eccentricities. And I'm working to become more communicative and give more credence to intuition."

She gave him a quick peck on the lips. "It's not always going to flow so easily," she said gently, "but you're right about our adaptability. I'd say we owe it to the fact that - as you so brilliantly put it once - this is not our beginning. We were building toward this for longer than either of us realized. It's a firm foundation, and it will most definitely see us through the difficult times."

She let her proclamation rest between them. There was no need to disillusion him with regard to the nature of marriage. She knew he would ponder her words over and over again, and she hoped he'd easily recollect them when hard times came.

"Tell me more about your mother," Richard urged. "You fairly glowed before when you were speaking about her. I'd love to know more about the woman behind my Isobel Fiona."

Isobel's countenance lit up again, and Richard regarded her with awe. He would forever treasure the expression on her face in this instant.

"She was - she is - the single greatest influence upon my life. She was the middle child of eleven, if you can believe that, from a Protestant family in Manchester by way of Glasgow. Her father was a solicitor ... I suppose that's how Matthew came by it. Daddy inherited his medical practice from his father. The MacAlisters were the Turnbulls' legal counsel. When Daddy was in medical school he assisted clerically in his father's practice, and Mum - she was rather a pioneer, and every bit her father's daughter - assisted her father in the law office. Mum would have studied law if it had been acceptable for women to do so. She was sharp of wit and tongue, and the more she and Daddy interacted professionally, the more taken he became with her personally." She paused and glanced at Richard with an ironic grin. "Rather like the two of us, I suppose."

Richard brought her close and kissed her forehead in agreement.

"They married in a blaze of glory that never flamed out. It caused a bit of upheaval in Mum's family, as she had several older sisters who expected to marry before her, but the rift was not long-lived, as Mum was the darling of the family - the great unifying force among all the siblings - and their beloved Fiona's joy was contagious."

Richard watched as Isobel shook her head and smiled, obviously lost in a precious memory.

"If ever there were any two who loved with as much intensity as we, it was Mum and Daddy. Their life together was not without its share of hardship, however … particularly as it pertained to having children. My brother, Edward, was born twelve years before me, after more than five years of trying to no avail. In the years between us Mum suffered four miscarriages and delivered stillborn twins. It was a series of devastating blows for Mum, whose own mother never had difficulty bearing children. And though Daddy was a physician of some renown, he was helpless to find a solution. So little was known then - so little is known still today - about the reasons behind these things. And, sadly, Mum's difficulty seems to have been heritable. That's …" she trailed off for a moment, turning her face skyward and blinking back tears. She inhaled sharply, letting the breath out slowly to steady herself.

"That's ancillary to Mum and Daddy's story, and I know you're going to ask me later and I will tell you, Richard. Suffice it to say that Reginald and I knew that kind of heartache as well. It was never our intention that Matthew should be an only child." Richard pulled her tight against him and she pressed her face into his shoulder, overcome with raw emotion.

"Oh, Isobel," he whispered, himself close to tears. "I always wondered why you only had Matthew, when you seemed so perfectly suited to motherhood. Oh, my darling girl, I'm sorry." He brought her to sit across his lap and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He rocked her gently, whispering to her of his love; that she was safe with him.

Isobel breathed deeply, able to hold the tears at bay thanks to Richard's tender consolation. After some moments she lifted her head to look into his eyes. They smiled sadly at each other and she pressed her lips to his, her kiss needy. Richard answered her hungry mouth with his own, and they kissed until Isobel pulled away.

She resumed her story where she had left off. "Daddy and Mum were rather like Abraham and Sarah in that when Mum fell pregnant with me, she was forty. Seven years had elapsed since their last loss and they both assumed my brother would be an only child. They were incredulous as the pregnancy progressed. Mum was incredibly ill - bedridden, actually - and she went into labor at twenty-eight weeks. Daddy was able to disrupt it several times, but at thirty-five weeks her water broke and there was no turning back. Daddy had wanted to name me after Mum, but she insisted upon Isobel … 'consecrated to God,' because it was only by His grace and providence that she and I survived.

"So Mum and I were always thick as thieves. If there is any good in me, it's by her guiding hand that it's there. And she and Daddy were a beautiful portrait for Eddie and me of the divinely-orchestrated purpose of marriage. They exemplified equanimity in a day and age when the societal disparity between marriage partners was even greater than it is today. Do you know … Daddy never made a decision without fully considering Mum's point of view first, which was simply unheard of back then. And Mum always advised Daddy selflessly and after much prayerful consideration. It wasn't until after I married Reginald, when contemporaries of ours began to appear far less suitably matched to their spouses, that I began to understand that Mum and Daddy's marriage was in any way exemplary. I had always simply assumed that theirs was the way it was done! But how fortunate I was in that regard! I never knew that I should expect anything less than a true marriage of equals, and I got it. Twice!"

"I love you," Richard interjected, as it seemed the perfect time.

Isobel graced him with a radiant smile. "Oh, my darling man, I know. And I love you."

Isobel slid off Richard's lap to curl against him on the seat, tucking her feet underneath her. Richard gathered her against his chest. "So how many years were your parents married?" He asked as he smoothed her hair. She relaxed into him, sighing because the story was about to take a dark turn.

"Daddy was sixty-five when we lost him. Mum was sixty, and they'd been married thirty-seven years. We consider sixty-five a respectably long life - though the nearer I approach it the more I beg to differ - but it was the manner in which he died." She paused, shaking her head as if to shake away a dreadful memory.

"I assume you've read Rudolf Virchow's explanation of pulmonary emboli?" She asked. Richard nodded, and then his shoulders sagged. A pulmonary embolism was an excruciating way to die.

"It was certainly the case that Daddy had lived a full and influential life," Isobel said, the pain in her heart evident in her voice. "It's just that he was the very last person we'd ever have expected to die. He was so full of strength and vitality; healthy, as far as we knew, and yet … Mum and Daddy had breakfast together in the morning. Eddie was out of the office all day on house calls. Reginald and I were due to cover the afternoon shift, but Eddie came by the house asking Reggie if he had reviewed a particular patient file. Reggie wasn't familiar with the case, so he went early to the office to review the file. He found Daddy lying on the floor unconscious, gasping for breath. He got him over to the hospital quickly, but there was no reversing the condition. Essentially it was as if Daddy drowned, as the blood clot completely obscured the pulmonary artery."

Isobel clung to Richard, needing his warmth. He stroked her hair as she tucked her face in against his neck, her lips on his pulse point. He's here, she reminded herself. He's here, he's real. He's with me. It's all right.

"Isobel, you don't have to tell me any more if it's too painful," Richard said gently as he rubbed her back.

She lifted her eyes to meet his and shook her head resiliently. "No, it's all right. Everyone endures hardship. We all felt the loss of Daddy acutely, but Mum … do you know how, in Hebrew culture, it was the custom to tear one's clothing and cover oneself in ashes and wail when mourning the loss of someone dearly beloved?"

Richard nodded.

"That was not far from Mum's reaction to Daddy's death. If it's been difficult to watch me grieve for Matthew, I assure you it doesn't begin to approach Mum's level of heartbrokenness. Of course it hurt me that my father was dead, but what hurt more was watching Mum grieve. Eddie had to insist that I stay away from her for some time because she and I were so close that I felt her pain as well as my own. I would look at her and burst into tears because she was so broken, and it wasn't allowing her to heal."

"But she recovered, didn't she?" Richard asked. "Surely a woman of such strong faith and constitution must have found her way."

Isobel smiled despite the sadness inherent in her story. Richard was taking what he knew of her own character and ascribing it to her mother. And he was correct.

"She did. You've heard of crying out to God. You've probably even seen me do it. And so did Mum. I haven't been afraid of the times I've begged Him to take me; just let me die, because I watched her do it. I also watched her scratch and claw her way out of the deep darkness and find a reason to live again. She had Eddie and me, and I was just twenty and newly married. Eddie had a wife and five children, so Reggie insisted that Mum come and live with us. She assisted with clerical work in the medical office, she poured herself into loving Eddie's children, and she became more vital to me than ever before once Reggie and I began to have difficulty starting a family."

Richard eyed Isobel cautiously. While as her husband he needed to know about this painful aspect of her past, he was concerned about the toll of its retelling upon her emotional well-being.

Isobel read the concern in his eyes and smoothed her palm across his cheek. "I'm all right," she assured him with a whisper. "Just hold me and I'll be alright."

Richard drew her closer yet, keeping one hand moving on her at all times as he alternated between kneading the muscles at the small of her back and smoothing over the length of her arms. "Tell me, darling. I've got you," he soothed.

"It almost feels inappropriate to interpose this here, as it's Mum's story I've been telling," she said, but Richard shook his head.

"Your lives were so very closely intertwined," he argued. "It's still Fiona's story in that she must have relived her own pain while watching her daughter suffer. You said that when your father died, you hurt more for your mother than you did for yourself. I'm sure her experience in this case must have been similar."

Isobel nodded. "Yes, it was. Very much the same." She drew a deep, steadying breath and continued. "For as passionate as Reginald and I were, it wasn't surprising that we found ourselves pregnant two months after the wedding. We were thrilled! Oh, yes, we were young and still very unaccustomed to living under the same roof, making decisions with the other's best interest at heart, sorting out our differences in an edifying manner and all that. But it seemed fitting that while we were adjusting to so much newness, we would welcome a life that our love created. Sadly, it was not to be. I was about four months gone and had just reached a point where I was feeling strong, the sickness having finally dissipated. I awoke one morning with stabbing pain in my abdomen. The bleeding began shortly after. So much of it. You know, there are times when having your husband as your personal physician is sheer hell. Reggie knew exactly what was happening and he was powerless to stop it. He and Eddie nearly came to blows over how to handle it. Eddie was pushing for a hysterectomy and Reggie refused, knowing it would mean an end to our dreams of having children before we'd really even begun. Reggie had more extensive training in obstetrics than Eddie despite the fact that Eddie was older and had been in medicine longer. Reggie had read extensively about James Blundell's successes in transfusing women with postpartum hemorrhage and had seen it succeed several times during his training. The long and short of it is that Mum gave blood, my husband and brother transfused me, and I survived more or less intact. But our baby …"

Isobel had spoken with a kind of clinical detachment as she recounted events, but when she made mention of the baby she lost, her eyes filled with tears. Richard held her face in his hands, kissing her cheeks and wiping her tears away. "It's all right, my precious Isobel. It's all right … I'm here."

She kissed him when the tears stopped flowing. Kissed him and kissed him, alternating between sweet and hungry, needing to cling to something vital and warm and alive after so much talk of death and loss. Being in his arms, feeling him there in the moment with her, was a balm for her soul. As she rested against the solid warmth of him she recovered her own physical strength.

"So you see, Richard, when I tell you that marriage can be difficult, I speak from experience. I was twenty years old, married six months and I'd lost my father and our first pregnancy. Reginald and I both leaned heavily upon Mum to help get us through that first loss. She made it clear to us that the many losses she and Daddy suffered served to bring them closer, rather than drive them apart, because they communicated clearly and honestly about their feelings. I'm happy to report that she was right, and that because Reggie and I suffered such a devastating loss so very early on, we essentially began our marriage communicating well.

"Unfortunately, that was far from our final such experience. A year later I was pregnant once again, and since we both knew the signs we found out very early on. This time it was an earlier loss - approximately ten weeks - and more akin to a very heavy and painful monthly cycle. It was no less emotionally harrowing, however. I was twenty-one years old. I had always been the picture of health. Why, then, couldn't my body do what women's bodies had been doing for thousands of years? I spent so much time crying in my mother's arms. I'm sure her heart must have broken. I was the baby she had struggled so hard to have, and I was facing the same hardship she had. But she prayed when I had neither the strength nor the desire. I felt forsaken. I raged. She was my rock."

"She was an extraordinary woman, Isobel. I know it with all certainty though I never had the privilege to meet her. I know it because her daughter is equally strong and steadfast and full of grace." Richard kissed her forehead and she looked adoringly into his eyes.

"Oh, Richard, she would have loved you! She would be the first to tell you that it's no easy task to love me, and she'd have great admiration for your tenacity. If your heritage hadn't sold her on you, your devotion to me certainly would have!"

"You said the second miscarriage wasn't your last. What happened?" Richard asked.

This time Isobel's response was to smile. "Thankfully, Reggie and I were granted a temporary reprieve. Matthew was our next pregnancy, and for all the heartache and difficulty of the previous two, this time there was only joy and delight. Once we passed the point at which we lost the first, we breathed a collective sigh of relief and enjoyed it. Surprisingly I loved the changes in my body. I know most women don't. I'm sure Reggie's appreciation of my appearance went a long way toward my confidence. It was a difficult delivery. I labored for three days and was nearly too exhausted to push when the time came. But Mum gave me a thorough dressing-down, and I gathered what remaining strength I had, and Reggie delivered his son! As soon as he had Matthew weighed and measured and cleaned up, Reggie passed him off to Mum and came to me. We held each other and just wept. Of all the intimate moments we shared over the course of our marriage - and there were many - that's one of my most treasured memories."

Richard regarded the expression on Isobel's face, thinking it must have been very similar to the way she looked when she finally had her son alive, healthy and in her arms. He found himself wishing, just for a moment, that he had been there, that it had been their story. Their child. He did not begrudge Reginald Crawley one moment of the twenty years he and Isobel had shared. But how he would have loved to see her belly swollen with his child; to feel the changes in her physique, the quickening of new life against the palm of his hand. What he would have given to hold her in his arms as she nursed their little one. But he tucked those thoughts away. They were not for now, when she was so graciously unguarded before him with regard to her agonizing past. He caressed her cheek.

"You have the look of a blissful new mother now as you tell the story," he said with admiration. "I'm so happy to know that there was a respite from all the pain, Isobel. Even if it didn't last."

She moved her hand atop his where it rested against her cheek and turned her face into his palm, placing a kiss to the center of it.

"It was just that, absolute bliss, for a long time. Mum was smitten with Matthew of course, and Reggie was a wonderful father. Matthew slept well, nursed well - and oh, did we enjoy that - and added so much to our lives. Of course we may have been more appreciative of his presence in our lives because he was so hard-won. Our struggles quite possibly made everything that came after look easy. Whatever the case, the first five years were a dream.

"Just before Matthew's fifth birthday I fell pregnant again. We were cautiously optimistic, hoping that Matthew had reversed the trend of loss. I was far more ill than I had been with Matthew and it never really subsided, which was a challenge as I tried to keep up with an active young child. At thirty weeks I mentioned to Reggie that I hadn't felt movement for a whole day. He listened for the baby's heartbeat and couldn't find it, but he didn't tell me that until after he'd asked Eddie to listen and Eddie was also unable to detect it." Isobel's eyes filled with tears, several of which spilled over. Richard was there to wipe them away, but he remained silent, knowing there were no words that would soothe her. There would be no happy ending to this portion of the story.

"I had experienced loss before, and I've gone on to experience it again since, but there is no real equivalent to the pain of knowing you must deliver a baby whose eyes will never open; who will never take a breath this side of heaven. Reggie couldn't do it. He tried, but in the end it was Eddie who delivered our little girl. She was a perfect little angel, with Mum's beautiful coloring and delicate bone structure and impossibly long, dark lashes. Too beautiful for this world, Mum said. I remember the pain acutely. My body going through all of the usual postpartum changes, and no baby to show for it. Breasts that filled and ached and no one to feed. Leaving the hospital with empty arms and having to tell Matthew that the baby sister he had longed for had gone home to heaven instead of coming to live with us. And then I have no memory. I shut down. I went to bed and stayed there. Apparently I was so despondent that there was a question as to whether I'd survive. Dying of a broken heart sounds like exaggeration; a literary device at best. But I've seen it happen and I know you have as well."

Richard nodded and laced his fingers through hers.

"The next thing I remember … Reginald's tears falling on my face. His words haunt me still. 'Jesus, Isobel, I can't lose you. Not you! As much as I love our children, I love you more than all of them. Don't you leave me too. It's you I can't live without.' I remember waking up out of my stupor. Holding him, apologizing profusely for having left him, the two of us crying together until there were no more tears. I learned from that hell, Richard. I learned that running from pain does nothing but compound it. My wonderful husband would have seen it through with me. He did, and we were stronger for it in the end. But I hurt him. He thought I had abandoned him and, while he forgave me, it wasn't until well after he died that I was able to forgive myself for it. My mother had been right when she warned us after the first loss that the worst thing we could do was stop communicating with one another."

"So that's the reason you're so adamant that the two of us communicate well," Richard interjected.

"Yes, darling. Now do you see that I truly do speak from experience when I tell you that there is nothing the two of us cannot endure so long as we talk to one another? If you think I push you to speak when you'd rather keep silent, that is why, Richard."

"I understand, Isobel. And that's why I think the timing in which we came together is actually advantageous to us. We've had no choice but to communicate openly as you've grieved for Matthew."

"I agree with you there, but over the years, Richard … Before we were together, we did a rather poor job of saying what we meant. We've quarrelled senselessly. I've failed to heed your counsel and you've shut me out on many occasions. Surely you won't deny it."

"I make no such pretenses, Isobel. But everything is different now. We've committed to see this through together, and I understand that it means sacrifice. You are worth any price, beloved. I won't do it perfectly, but I will make my best effort to tell you everything you need to know."

Isobel inhaled a great, deep breath and realized that she had talked for so long that they were now only minutes away from arriving in Downton. She was wrung out; emotionally and physically spent from revisiting so much of her life's history. Now she had an appreciation for the way that talking exhausted Richard, and she felt a little sorry for coming down so hard on him about communication when it wasn't likely the case that he didn't desire to do it well. He was simply cut from a different mold than she, but he was willing to bend to meet her.

"That is all I can ask, my love, and so much more than I deserve. You have my word that I will, in turn, encourage you gently to share your heart with me, and show you grace those times when it doesn't come easily. I've just spent hours talking, and while you would think that would be energizing for me, there are so many deep emotions attached to those memories that I am positively knackered just now. If that is what you experience, I certainly can't fault you if you're sometimes reluctant to speak."

As the train pulled into the station, they stood to gather their belongings and Isobel wrapped her arms around Richard's waist.

"Take me home, darling. Nothing sounds better to me than a quiet evening in your arms."

When they arrived home, they were pleased to find that Tom had lit a fire in both the sitting room and the bedroom. Isobel found a vase full of white roses on the table and a note from Elsie.

Welcome home, Dr. & Mrs. Clarkson!  
I trust you will find that Tom has kept the house well in your absence. I've put fresh linens on the bed and taken your laundry for washing. I'll return it tomorrow. Mrs. Patmore has sent over a hamper with dinner and I've placed it in the coldbox. Isobel, I am dying to hear of your adventures in London! Let's arrange a time to go for tea in Ripon next week.  
Love and Congratulations to you both,  
Elsie

Isobel grinned as she read the note. She retrieved the hamper from the coldbox and removed the contents: a hearty beef stew, fresh-baked bread and plum pudding for dessert. She put the food in the oven to warm and stood in the kitchen, taking in the sights, sounds and smells of her home with a new appreciation. Home. It was home, because it was hers and Richard's. Because it was looked after with love in their absence by friends and family. Love, she realized. Richard was right. Love makes this house a home.

She found him sitting in his favorite armchair by the fire. He was reading this morning's paper, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. She approached him and he looked up, smiling fully when he saw the satisfaction in her eyes. He set down the paper and held his hands out to her and she dropped into his lap, slipping his glasses off.

"You're ever so handsome in these," she said, kissing the tip of his nose, "but you're far easier to kiss without them." She cradled his face in her hand and brushed her lips against his smiling ones. When they broke apart she added, "Elsie was here earlier. She's taken in our laundry and put fresh linens on the bed. Mrs. Patmore sent over dinner and I've got it warming now."

Richard sighed contentedly. "I've got a fire in the fireplace, dinner in the oven and a lapful of sweet, warm wife. What more could a man ask for?"

Isobel giggled. "Flatterer," she said. "As soon as we finish dinner, I want you to take me to bed."

"I'm certain that can be arranged," he replied.

They finished dinner and did the washing up together. Richard locked the doors, adjusted the damper on the fire and took Isobel's hand as she led the way upstairs. She began to unbutton her blouse, but Richard came close and stilled her hands with his.

"Let me," he said, his voice husky. She nodded, dropping her hands, and watched his eyes as he unfastened each button. She heard the whisper of the fabric as her blouse fell to the floor. Her skirt soon followed and then she stood before him in her brassiere, stockings and knickers. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as he bent his head to kiss first one nipple and then the other through the lace of her brassiere. He looked up at her, his mouth full of her breast, and the image took her breath away.

"Oh, you're beautiful!" she cried. She began to unbutton his shirt as he reached around to unclasp her brassiere. At the first press of their bare upper bodies against the other they both cried out.

She unfastened his trousers and as he stepped out of them he knelt and began slowly rolling the silk of her stockings down her legs, kissing every patch of skin as it was revealed. When only her knickers remained he caressed her bottom through the satin. He looked up to meet her gaze and then pressed a singular kiss to her apex through the fabric. She moaned loudly and clutched at his shoulders. She let him slide the material down her legs and off before she pulled at him, willing him to stand. She removed his undershorts, stroking him firmly as she went.

They lay down in bed and Richard rose up on his elbow. "Tell me what you need, Isobel. You've been to some painful places in your memory today. What can I do to help you now?"

She smiled even as her lips emitted a sob and she reached out, pressing her fingers against his lips. "Oh, I love you, Richard!" Another sob, and then she pulled herself together and answered him. "I think … I think I just need to be with you. Feel you. Breathe together. I'm probably not making any sense."

"Oh, but you are, darling. Do you want to stretch out on top of me?"

This earned him a full, beautiful smile. "God, yes. Sounds heavenly."

He lay down, making himself comfortable and she lowered herself on top of him, stealing a kiss in the process. Both of them gasped at the press of bare skin on skin. Putting a hand to his heart he said softly, "Here, put your head right here." She smiled warmly again, kissed him there and settled in.

"How's that, sweet girl?" He asked as his arms came around her.

"It's wonderful," she sighed. "Healing. This is what I've longed for, all those years."

"It's all yours now, anytime you need it, my Bel." For just a moment, Richard's heart ached at the thought of this beautiful woman and all of the pain she had endured in her lifetime, for so long all alone. He pushed the thought down. He had her now, every glorious bare inch of her in his arms, in his bed, and she would never know pain like that again as long as he had anything to say about it.

They were silent for a long time. Isobel gloried in the sound of Richard's heartbeat and the heat of his skin. He thought about her body, perfect in every way as far as he could see. There was nothing broken about her. His hands moved on her of their own accord. He couldn't have her this close and not touch her. His fingertips traced every inch of skin he could reach; mapping her vertebrae, brushing the sides of her breasts, kneading her lower back and hips. Her pelvis rolled into him, her fingers massaging the back of his neck. He couldn't help growling when he felt her nipples harden where they pressed against his chest. They began a slow, lazy grind that they continued for some time and she moaned as he hardened beneath her. She lifted her head to look at him and her pain was forgotten, the look in her eyes one of hunger and abandon.

"There's my Isobel," Richard affirmed. "There's my lover."

It was amazing to him how different she looked now after being in his arms. The physicality between them truly was a healing balm for her. "Isobel, you look so beautiful right now. So confident and strong and hungry. This is the woman I see. This is who you are."

She graced him with a smile. "That's the difference love makes, Richard. It really is that powerful. God, this is so good. Sweet and easy and face-to-face is perfect right now."

She kissed him deeply, her tongue tracing the outline of his lips. He sucked her tongue into his mouth and she rolled her hips against him. He worked a hand down over her bottom and then lower, caressing her inner thighs and she gasped, open-mouthed, in the middle of a kiss. His other hand joined the first and he traced indiscernible patterns along her inner thighs from her knees to her apex, intentionally avoiding touching her where she wanted him most. She felt the ache begin to build. She arched her back, pressing her hips more insistently against his arousal. She kissed his neck and chest, all the skin she could reach.

"Here, sit up, love," Richard urged. She moved to straddle him as he sat up, his mouth latching onto her breast.

"Yesss," she sighed. He palmed the other breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers. "Oh, lover, yes … This is what I need," she whispered. Her head rolled back as she felt his fingertips ghosting over her ribs and the plane of her abdomen. He rested the flat of his palm there, where her babies once lay within her. It was a benediction. He knew the tears would come and he soothed her when they did.

"Isobel," he whispered, and their eyes locked. "Isobel, you did well, sweetheart. You loved those babies so much, didn't you? You carried them as long as you could, love. You didn't fail them. You're so brave. You're the strongest person I know." He couldn't say more because tears were streaming down his face as well. He reached for Isobel, pulling her to him, and she collapsed against him.

What grace he had given her; absolution. Healing that had been decades in the making. They cried together until the tears ran dry and the spark between them built to flame once more.

"Richard, in me?" Isobel whimpered.

"Of course, sweet girl. Don't worry, I'll hold you." In this position she would bear most of the weight, but her hips were hurting and her heart was heavy and he held her so that he would do the majority of the work for them. She raised up on her knees as he aligned them and he looked up at her, poised just above him.

"The way you look right now … I'm going to remember that forever," he told her.

"Souls alike, Richard," she said softly as she took him within her body. "You have all of me. Oh, lover!"

She could say nothing else; could focus solely on feeling him. Feeling alive. He held her hips as she rose and fell on him, and when they found their rhythm he worked his hand down to the place where they were joined and brushed his fingers over her center, his touch intensifying with her cries. They found release together; pleasure and pain and life and death all mingling as they called out to one another.

She pulled him down on her, loving the weight and closeness of him. Her arms wrapped around him, clinging tightly. He stayed until he could no longer and then he laid down next to her, gathering her against him. She was not yet willing to relinquish all the heat between them, so she insinuated a leg between his and sighed contentedly as his hand rested on her bottom.

Richard hadn't yet been the first to speak after they made love, but tonight he surprised her. "You're a force, Isobel. You are so beautiful, it's heartbreaking. Thank you … For sharing your joy and your pain and your body and your soul with me. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but thank you, sweet girl."

She smiled against him, strengthened by his words. "It's because of the man you are, Richard. You love me … You understand me, like no one else. I could never be … all this … with anyone but you. We have it all now, don't we?"

It was his turn to smile. "We certainly do. I had no idea life held so many wonders I hadn't yet discovered. I love it all, Isobel, because I have it with you. You are the best-kept secret I could ever have hoped to find."

"I love you so much, Richard. You're a beautiful man. You've given me back all those wasted years, love."

"There's no more death, Bel. No more pain. There's only love, and life beginning anew. Sleep now, darling girl."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next three demonstrate how working with a beta changed my life. I'd never have had the nerve or skill to do this without advisement, and it was exactly what needed to happen. Thanks, CSotA! xx

Richard and Isobel awoke to sunshine streaming through the windows on their first morning at home as husband and wife. There was a clarity in the quality of the light that, if they hadn't known it was January, would have led them to believe it was summer.

Isobel stretched lazily and rolled toward Richard. He grinned and pulled her on top of him.

"Good morning, my dashing husband," she whispered as she lowered her lips to his. He moaned into the kiss and held her low around her waist.

"Good morning to you, my ravishing bride!"

She laughed in response, the sound of it music to his ears. "Oh, there you go again! Fortunately for you, love, flattery will get you everywhere with this girl!" She kissed him again, carding her fingers through his silver-blond hair.

"So I've noticed. Surely that's owed to the fact that I mean every word?" He spoke sincerely and seductively, and she felt her heart begin to pound.

"Oh, darling, I know. Words cost me nothing, but I can spot empty praise from a mile off. No, if I seem at all taken aback by the lovely things you say, it's due to the fact I know exactly how sincerely you mean them. And it's been an awfully long time since I was so … appreciated."

"Well," he said adoringly, "we must do something about that." He kissed her this time, a series of slow, deep kisses that made her every nerve ending tingle.

"God, Richard …" She said as their lips parted. "Keep that up and we'll never get out of bed!"

"Mmmm," he moaned, his hands drifting to her bottom, "you'll hear no complaints from me. We've the next week completely free from any obligations whatsoever. I believe that's what's known as a honeymoon, yes? And aren't newlyweds supposed to do nothing but make love all day and night while on honeymoon?"

Her lips let slip a moan of their own in response to his words. "Not just newlyweds, my darling man. I've a hunch you and I will always be this way."

"Is that so?" He kissed his way from the corner of her mouth, across the line of her jaw and lower, paying particular attention to the baby-soft skin of her neck and collarbones. When he looked up he took notice of her hands, clenching fistfuls of the sheets. "Well, then …" He lowered his voice until it became a raspy near-whisper. "Come here, Isobel."

She sent a puzzled look his way. "I don't believe we can get any closer, love," she said gently.

"No, darling ...come here." He overturned them swiftly so that she lay beneath him and nudged her knees apart with his thigh. He drew the flat of his palm down from her ribcage and over her abdomen, eliciting a desirous hiss from her lips, and his fingers found her center. She returned his fervor, touching him with more boldness than she had yet. Their coupling was heated and hasty.

Afterward they lay in one another's arms, Isobel marveling at how far they had come together in such a short amount of time. Richard owned her heart completely. She had shared with him from the deepest reaches of her soul and he had handled her vulnerability like fine china, delicate and priceless. Even in her happiness, however, she began to wonder about something she'd observed in him. She had noticed this time as they made love that he clung to her almost in desperation. Where she wore her emotions on her sleeve, he defaulted to locking his away. She had stressed the importance of clear communication between them and he had agreed emphatically. So it must not be that he was deliberately keeping from her that which was troubling him; rather, that he did not realize he was troubled.

Still, as she looked at him now, he had the appearance of being genuinely content. She would not press the matter with him until the moment arose on its own. His conduct had served to show her that his heart must be handled with the same care he lavished upon hers, and that timing was everything.

She reached out to trace her fingertips over the contours of his face. "Are you happy, Richard, my love?"

He turned toward her, smoothing his hand along her side from shoulder to waist. "Oh, Bel, blissfully so. In fact, I was just thinking that if there existed a legal limit to the amount of happiness one was allowed, I exceeded it just about the time you said your vows!"

She smiled, all thoughts of his troubled mind having vanished at his lovely poetic declaration. "Well then, I must have surpassed mine the moment you asked me to be your wife!"

They shared a smile and lay quietly in the comfort of their shared embrace and the warmth of their bed. "What time is it, anyhow?" Isobel had the presence of mind to ask after several moments.

Richard picked up his pocket watch off the nightstand. "Heavens, it's already gone ten o'clock! Isobel, aren't you hungry?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Well yes, I guess I am rather. Only I didn't notice it until just now, as I was quite ...distracted." They shared a knowing look. "Shall we make breakfast together?"

He nodded. "I'd like that. I suppose we ought to get dressed, then."

"As much as I'd like to say I disagree, I'm afraid you're right. I need to ring Elsie, as she did take in our laundry and said she'd bring it by today. But I don't see the need for her to trouble herself. Much as I enjoyed going away with you …" She paused to kiss him so he'd know how sincere she was, "I haven't seen George since Saturday and I miss him. I wonder whether we could take just an hour or so and go by; see him, and thank Cora and Robert once again for their contributions to the wedding. And I could also pop in on Elsie and arrange an afternoon for tea with her later in the week. If you've no objections, of course. This is, after all, our time."

"And what I enjoy most about our time is seeing you smile, Isobel. You're positively radiant when you do, and every time you see Master George you break into the sort of grin that lights up your entire countenance. I'll promote anything that causes you so much joy."

She had been sitting at the vanity pinning up her hair, and his words caused her to drop the hairpins she was holding. She spun around in the chair to face him. "Darling man, you are most extraordinary," she said adoringly. "Two things you must know: first, you bring me greater joy than I would hazard any human being has ever known. Secondly, you are George's grandfather now—"

Richard's jaw dropped. How had this fact slipped past him? And how was he to feel about it?

"By marriage," he interrupted.

Isobel regarded his puzzlement with a mix of delight and concern. She realized that he had not belonged to a family proper since the deaths of his parents, and that the peerage was a source of intimidation for him. "Well, yes, but that makes you no less significant than I, as you are my heart, Richard. And what I mean to say is that you need not address your grandson by title. I encourage you to begin looking at George as precisely that: our grandson. Your grandson. He is a part of me and now I am a part of you, therefore …"

She let her statement hang in the air. So much had changed between them indeed. She suspected that a great many of his long-held customs would be changing now and remembered how jarring it was for her when she had come to Downton, and for Tom when he had married Sybil.

Richard went quiet as he processed this information. Isobel watched for a moment as he stood in front of the wardrobe, perusing its contents with unseeing eyes. She rose and walked to him, wrapping her arms around him from behind. "What is it, darling? I'm listening."

He turned to face her, wrapping her tightly in his arms. "Only that it's rather a lot to get used to. Me, a grandfather? But I've never been a brother, or an uncle, or a father! Don't misunderstand me; I've longed for a family of my own. Always. My parents were wonderful but it was just us three, and when they were gone, well …"

"Richard, I can say with complete confidence that there is no one better suited to the task than you. Your hands brought forth each one of Robert and Cora's daughters, to say nothing of the hundreds of other new lives you've welcomed over the years. I've seen you walk the corridors soothing those babies. I've watched as you've set broken bones and patched skinned knees and you're so tender. Yours is such a calming presence. The children of the village love you. If I had a pound for every time a young patient has told me, 'Doctor Clarkson is my friend,' well, darling, we'd own that hospital! The only thing that changes in regard to George is that you'll be more free to love him now, no longer from a distance as simply a patient or the heir to Downton."

These words seemed to ease his mind a little, as evidenced by the softening of his posture. She smiled as she felt him relax into her embrace. "Now, what else? Are there any other ways by which I can put your mind at rest?" She was fairly certain what his answer would be, but she asked the question nonetheless. If nothing else, perhaps it would serve to get him thinking and eventually he'd recognize on his own the unrest that was so evident to her.

"Just this, my Bel. Being in your arms." He turned in her arms and kissed her soundly.

"Then you shall have more of it, love. But for now, I believe it was you who insinuated I should be hungry. Bacon and eggs are calling, darling, and I'd so appreciate you cooking the bacon as I've never once failed to burn myself in the process."

"Well, now, we can't have that. You can be in charge of omelets then, and I'll man the grease. And we'll call it brunch, given the hour."

She regarded him with delight. "I do love you in take-charge mode. It's most enchanting." She held his hand and they walked down the stairs.

After brunch was finished, Richard and Isobel went to the Abbey. They sat down to tea with Cora and Edith and were joined a while later by Robert and Mary, just back from meeting with one of the tenant farmers. Conversation naturally drifted to the wedding, with the family unanimously agreeing that none of them had ever been so moved by a marriage ceremony.

As they visited, George's nanny brought him to Mary to be fed before his nap. Isobel sent an inquisitive look Mary's way. Mary nodded and Isobel took George from the nanny. It was a sweet reunion of grandmother and grandson as George snuggled instantly into her arms.

Richard took note of the baby's contentment in Isobel's arms and smiled. I know precisely how you feel, wee man, he thought. Isobel took Richard's hand. "I'll share him, Granddad. Would you like to hold him?"

Mary smiled and chimed in with, "Yes, of course, Dr. Clarkson! You must hold your grandson! How lovely for us that he gains such an honorable man for a grandfather."

Richard was quite taken aback by her words and her demeanor and Isobel registered the stiffening of his posture, but he covered it well enough that none but she noticed his bemusement.

"Thank you kindly, Lady Mary. It's no small deed for a new mother to share her infant as I well know." Richard took George into his arms. The baby must have found his grandfather's presence nearly as soothing as his grandmother's for he curled himself against Richard's chest easily.

"Nonsense," Mary replied. "You're family. And let's dispense with the formalities, shall we? At least between you and I. I'm George's mother and you're his grandfather, married to our wonderful Isobel. She glows in your presence, and that fact in and of itself makes you a friend of mine. Please, call me Mary."

Richard found himself speechless. Isobel squeezed his hand, bringing him back to his senses. He cleared his throat and nodded. "It'll take some getting used to, but I shall try, La—" he caught himself. "—Mary."

Isobel watched the exchange carefully. Her heart felt full to the point of bursting at Mary's warm acceptance of Richard as not only her son's grandfather, but as a friend. It was a tremendous concession on Mary's part, one that Isobel knew would never have taken place were it not for the influence of Matthew's love upon Mary's heart. At the same time, however, the unease she perceived in Richard perturbed her. Can't you see she means you no harm? She wants you to feel included.

The group sat together for a few minutes more, allowing Richard time with his new grandson. He and Mary chatted about how well George was eating ("All the time. Constantly," Mary offered) and how poorly he was sleeping ("For the past two nights he's been up every hour and a half!"). The difference was that this time Richard listened not in his customary capacity but as grandfather first, physician second.

"It certainly sounds as if you're doing everything you can," Richard granted, "but then Isobel's been in your shoes and can likely speak to it better than I."

When George began to fuss for his feeding, Richard handed him back to Mary.

"Isobel, would you join us? That is of course if you don't mind, Doct—" Mary slipped. "—Richard. I'm sorry. It'll take some time for me as well."

"No trouble," he answered. "Take your time, Isobel. I'll be here." Doing what, he wasn't sure, as the ladies undoubtedly wouldn't stay around on his account.

Cora must have understood his predicament, for she elbowed Robert as he sat next to her. She indicated with a pointed look that she needed a private audience with him and they stepped aside for a moment. When they returned Robert wore a discomfited expression, but his words were friendly.

"Doctor Clarkson, I wonder whether you'd walk with me while I survey a few of the outbuildings. I'd like to get your thoughts on a matter or two."

Richard looked at Isobel. What am I to make of this?

It's an overture, darling. Just go with it.

"It would be my pleasure, Lord Grantham," Richard answered, albeit not without a panic-stricken glance in his wife's direction.

Isobel sat with Mary for the duration of George's feeding. Just as Richard had suggested, she was able to advise her daughter-in-law with regard to the baby. "At four months they experience quite a growth spurt. It accounts for both his increased appetite and his sleep regression. I can't tell you how long it will last, but I can assure you it most certainly will come to an end. The best advice I can give you - what worked for me - is to feed him on demand, even if it seems like it's all you do for a while. Ultimately it'll be easier on you, the nanny, and George than trying to hold him off, listening to him cry and wondering what on earth is wrong. I'll come whenever you need relief ...so long as your mother doesn't mind, that is."

"Please. Mama? Lately it seems she and Papa both are of the opinion that I'm to be handled with kid gloves. If your presence makes my burden easier to carry, they'll hardly have a word to say about it. So long as your groom can spare you, that is. How's that going, by the way? Wait … I need only look at your face to know the answer. You're radiant, Isobel. I'm thrilled for you."

Isobel couldn't hide her smile. "Thank you, darling. It has been most wonderful, as I knew it would be. Even so, as long as I've known him, he still manages to surprise me. You heard the vows … Who would've known he was such a romantic?"

Mary smiled and it almost reached her eyes. Isobel was the only one capable of causing such a reaction these days and it gratified her each time she saw it. "I've said it before and I'll say it again: you give me hope, Isobel."

"And I'll say it again as well: there is always reason to hope, darling girl. Now give him over and lie down. Your eyelids are at half-mast! I'll rock him until he's down and let Nanny know to listen for him when I go."

"You're a godsend, you know," Mary said as she handed George over.

"Oh, get away with you," Isobel said lightheartedly. "Rest, love."

When George was settled, Isobel ventured below stairs. She was met by surprised glances from several of the staff, but they greeted her with "Hello, Mrs. Clarkson," and "Congratulations" nonetheless.

She rapped lightly on the door to Elsie's sitting room, but when it opened she was met not by the smiling face of the housekeeper, but by the taciturn butler.

"Mrs. Clarkson!" The smallest of smiles tugged at the corners of his lips, belying the alarm in his voice. He remembers.

"Mr. Carson. I was here to see George and thought I'd chance popping in on Mrs. Hughes. Is she in?" And the unspoken question. Did you talk to her?

Clearly it was only Richard who could read between her lines, for Carson was swift to reply with, "She is indeed. One moment." He ducked back inside and she heard him announce, "Mrs. Clarkson to see you." He showed her in with his accustomed flourish and took his leave.

"Isobel!" Elsie exclaimed, embracing her friend. She held the other woman out at arm's length to get a good look at her. "Aye, but marriage seems to agree with you, now! You've never looked better! Tell me, how are you?" Elsie indicated that Isobel should sit and poured tea for the both of them before doing the same.

Isobel beamed. "I'm wonderful. It's … He's …" She found herself unable to finish and they both giggled.

"Well it must be all that and more to render you of all people speechless," Elsie teased.

"Oh, you! It's been remarkable, for the most part, but that's a conversation for another day. Which is why I'm here to begin with. I wanted to thank you for the roses. They're magnificent! And for changing the linens and taking in our washing while we were away. But mostly I wanted to ask, when are you free? In your note you mentioned tea in Ripon and I think it's a splendid idea if you're still so inclined."

"But of course! My afternoon off is on Friday."

"This morning Richard told me he'll gladly promote anything that makes me smile. But his behavior since we've been here today has been somewhat … contradictory. No matter; I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it. If he's unable to drive us on Friday, I know Tom would."

Elsie assimilated this bit of information with a concerned expression. "I'm sure I know how you feel," she said softly.

Isobel, ever perceptive, didn't miss her friend's expression. "Elsie, what is it?"

Elsie straightened in her chair. "Nothing. It's nothing at all," she said. She wasn't fooling either of them.

"Carson?" Isobel asked. Elsie nodded, and Isobel's heart sank a little. So then he hasn't spoken to her yet.

"Aye, the very same. I had thought - I had hoped the tide was turning in that regard, but the other evening we spent twenty minutes trading barbs about a few footmen taking an evening off and he ended the exchange with 'I'll thank you to remember, Mrs. Hughes, that the staff answer to me.' And he's been cold as ice ever since."

Isobel reached across the table, covering Elsie's hand with her own. "I'm so sorry. I can see how much his words have hurt you. I want very much to discuss this further, but I feel the current setting may not be advantageous for you. Can you wait until Friday? Then we'll have all the time you like and the freedom to speak without guarding our tongues."

Elsie's face brightened. "As if being in this house has ever made you mindful of your tongue," she teased. "Yes, I've waited years to sort out this business between Mr. Carson and myself. Heaven knows I can wait another few days."

Isobel smiled. "I have hope for the two of you, Elsie. Don't lose heart, whatever you do. Before I leave, can I relieve you of our laundry?"

"Nonsense," Elsie replied with a wave of her hand. "I'll get one of the hall boys to put it in the boot of the car. You enjoy your honeymoon, Mrs. Clarkson! Focus on all of the good and not the little bit of trouble, and I'll see you Friday."

Isobel made her way back upstairs just in time to find Richard returning from walking the grounds with Robert. They clasped hands upon their reunion, both still unsure about showing affection in the presence of others but certain enough that each determined to express it. She smiled as he took her hand readily in his own. Their laundry collected, Richard handed Isobel into the car and they drove home. He was reticent and solemn for the duration of the afternoon, though he kept her physically near. Her stomach began to hurt as she wondered about the nature of his peculiar behavior.

Talk to me, she silently pleaded. I love you. Talk to me!

Mary took Isobel up on her offer of help with George and called her several times that week for relief. Richard drove her and stayed a little while to spend time with their grandson. During one of their visits they weighed and measured the baby to set Mary's mind at ease and found that he had grown and gained significantly from his measurement two weeks prior. Mary had been unsuccessful at getting him to settle down for a nap, so Isobel took over and suggested Mary get out for a walk in the fresh air and sunshine.

Robert had somewhat reluctantly asked Richard to play cribbage at Cora's urging and Richard had agreed with equal hesitancy. As the game progressed, the conversation began to ease a bit. The two men focused on the common ground of their grandson and found that on that subject they had no end of things to talk about. That was until Richard noticed the time and realized it had been quite a while since he had seen Isobel. He mentioned this to Robert.

"Indeed, it has been quite some time. She'll be in the nursery and you're welcome to look in on her." While he thanked Robert, internally Richard bristled at this. So now that he was married to one of the family, he was to have the run of the house? To forget that he was not landed gentry, that he came with no title or pedigree and that the regard in which he was held by the village he served was earned by decades of back-breaking work, a concept necessarily foreign to the Granthams?

His heart softened immediately when he discovered his wife. In fact, the vision she cast knocked the breath right out of his lungs. Isobel lay fast asleep on the bed, George lying on his stomach against her chest, sleeping soundly. Even in sleep her hands cradled his tiny body protectively, one at the base of his skull and the other under his bottom.

Richard didn't know whether to smile or to weep. His Isobel. She of fiery temperament and healing hands; of strong opinions and purest heart. She who loved intensely and had lost so much, too much. It made his heart soar to watch her, both she and the baby so at peace in the other's presence. She came by the traits inherent in motherhood so naturally: intuition, stamina, nurture. It tore him apart to know that she had lost this opportunity with all but one of her own children, and that the one with whom she had shared these sweet moments had been wrenched out of her life horrifically. He knew she'd say there was no sense dwelling on the past, that what mattered was that Matthew lived on through little George and she was determined to love him fully and without reservation. He admired her for that. It was that resolve that had seen her through every one of the senseless losses in her past. But sometimes, sometimes he felt her pain as acutely as she, and it sidelined him. What on earth was he to do with it all?

As he watched her now he struggled with whether to wake her. He certainly did not want to disturb George, who was finally sleeping for the first time in sixteen hours. He knelt beside the bed and placed a soft kiss by her ear. "Isobel. Isobel, darling," he whispered.

She registered the intrusion and tightened her hold on the baby. Richard's whisper came again. "Isobel, it's me." Her eyes opened and her posture relaxed.

"Richard," she acknowledged blearily, blinking back sleep. "I'm so sorry! I only meant to settle him but he wasn't going down easily. I tried many things but it took this to finally soothe him."

He took her by the arm and helped her to sit up, keeping the baby snuggled close. "It's quite alright, my dear," he said tenderly. "I'm sure he and his mother are both eternally grateful to you."

"I'm going to suggest to Mary that she simply let him sleep now, for as long as he will. This may signify the end of the growth spurt and I always found Matthew and I were completely exhausted when one drew to a close." She looked to Richard and he helped her to stand. She laid George in his crib and tucked the blanket tightly around him. They stood and watched him for a moment to verify that he would not unsettle. "What were you up to all this time?" she asked him.

She felt as well as saw the change in the atmosphere as Richard rolled his eyes. "Playing cribbage with Lo—" he heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes once more, "with Robert. Though I think he was rather put up to it, he insisted. On both the game and the use of first names." Now he looked truly vexed, and she didn't know what to make of it.

"They mean to welcome you into the family, love. I—"

"Isobel." One word. Just her name spoken in that tone of voice and it was clear that all was not well between them.

Her brow creased in worry and hot tears burned the backs of her eyes. He had argued with her so very many times, but she had never heard him sound so cold, so bitter.

"Richard?"

"This is hardly the time or place," he replied tersely. "Say goodbye to George."

Each bent over the crib to kiss their sleeping grandson. Isobel preceded Richard down the stairs and asked Carson to bring their coats and to see if she could have a word with Lady Mary.

Mary appeared and Isobel schooled her face into a neutral expression. "Darling, we're going. George fell asleep an hour ago and I don't expect you'll hear from him for some time. Ring me if you need me in the night and I'll come."

She didn't hear Mary's response, whatever it was. She was aware of Richard's hand at her elbow as he guided her into the car. She felt her heart pound, heard the blood rushing in her ears. She had argued with him more times than either could count. Sometimes she'd even gotten something of a thrill from their verbal sparring. But this was entirely different. During none of those arguments had she been his.

The ride home was completely silent, which served to unnerve Isobel even further. She thought she'd rather they rage and scream at one another - at least then she would know what he was thinking!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Isobel and Elsie chat, woman-to-woman. Challenging and fun to write.

They arrived at the cottage and Richard offered Isobel his hand getting out of the car. She accepted it, the brush of his fingertips against her palm making her breath catch. Not so angry as to forego gentleness, she thought for an instant. But as soon as she was out of the vehicle he pulled his hand away. Her stomach lurched and she nearly cried out in pain. His hand brushed the small of her back as he allowed her to precede him through the front door, but again, before she could feel the warmth of his touch it was gone.

He lit a fire in the fireplace and leaned against the sofa with his arms crossed. She paced, watching him.

Finally, she could stand the silence no longer. "Richard, something has been eating at you ever since we got back from London. You're shutting me out and I can't bear it! I've told you over and over again how very important it is that we communicate, because I know what happens in a marriage when communication falls apart and—"

"Well I don't know! I don't know that, Isobel! I've never been through this before, all right?! Look, I love you. You mean everything to me. But our being together has brought with it a great deal of change, has it not? I'm trying to keep pace with all of it. You have to remember I've been by myself, living the same life in the same village with the same ways for forty years!"

"I know that our being together has brought changes. I understand it's difficult! You don't think my life changed when Matthew and I moved here from Manchester?!"

"It's not at all the same, Isobel! It's night and day and you know it! You had a family. You knew how to function as part of a whole. I don't have that experience! I've never had to think about sharing my thought processes with someone else. Whether what I say - or don't say - has been misconstrued. Well, clearly it has been! I have no frame of reference for any of this! Not for communicating with you, not for listening to your opinion on every facet of my life and certainly not for suddenly being on familiar terms with the very family who holds the power over my employment in the palm of their hand. It's all jolly good to hear that I should feel glad about it, but how about what I do feel? Well, now, that I couldn't tell you, because it's never quiet enough for me to think! I thought you knew what you were getting and that I was enough for you. Clearly I'm not, if I'm suddenly meant to verbalize each thought as it enters my mind; if I'm to forget the great gulf that separates me from your family and act as though we're old chums." He paused for breath and looked at her dejectedly.

"I can't be what you want me to be, Isobel! Christ, it's as if I haven't the room to breathe!" His voice broke, coming as a strangled whisper.

Isobel, who had never before backed down from a fight, suddenly found herself unable to think, let alone speak. She stood rooted to her spot for long moments, mouth agape. Then abruptly she turned on her heel and picked up the telephone in Richard's study.

"Carson," she could be heard to say, "it's Mrs. Clarkson. Is Mr. Branson in? Yes, would you ask him to come to the phone?" A pause, and then, "Tom? Would you come round to the cottage for me? Yes, I've told Mary I'll help with George. Ten minutes? Thank you."

If one were to ask her later, Isobel would have said she did not remember it happening, but she made her way upstairs and gathered clothing and toiletries into her valise, then marched back downstairs for her coat and hat. As she put them on she turned to Richard. "If it's breathing room you need then you shall have it. I'll be at the Abbey." She would not have believed herself capable of such coldness toward the one her heart loved, but then neither would she have believed the same from him until she saw it.

She stepped out into the cold, still darkness. It was then that she realized she was shaking, her body reacting to the adrenaline high brought on by the argument. As she waited for Tom she replayed Richard's words on a continuous loop in her head. 'I can't be what you want me to be, Isobel!' She blinked back tears and shook her head. How had it come to this? They weren't married a week yet! All she had meant to do was to love him. To give him the family he never had. To spare them the mistakes she had made in her first marriage. How could she have gotten it so wrong?

Tom pulled up and stepped out of the car to help with her valise. Despite the darkness he knew that something was wrong the second he laid eyes on her.

"Mum? What is it? Is something wrong with Doctor Clarkson? His car is here; is he not at home?" He caught her wrists and held her at arm's length. She was trembling. He drew her into a protective embrace.

"No, Tom, Richard is inside. I'm afraid we've had a … difference of opinion and he feels the need for breathing room. And so he shall have it." The way in which she looked at him told Tom that the matter was not open to discussion. He shook his head in dismay and then nodded with resolve as he helped her into the car.

"Right then. Out of respect for you, I shall reserve comment until such time as you deem it welcome." He smiled impishly at her and she acknowledged his attempt to lighten the mood, squeezing his hand appreciatively. She knew that he would not have allowed his opinion to go unheard for anyone else.

"Thank you, son. Richard and I may be at odds with one another, but I owe it to him to keep the nature of our disagreement between the two of us, especially since he vowed to do the same. What I need is a covert entry into the Abbey. I don't mind Mary knowing I'm there, as it'll be under the guise of helping with George. I highly doubt she'll need me tonight, as George should sleep now for a good long while. But if there's anyone practiced in the art of the cover-up, it's Mary. And Elsie and I will be leaving at noon tomorrow for tea in Ripon. I'll not trouble her with any of this before then since she's working, but would you be so kind as to drive us?"

It troubled Tom that he didn't know the nature of the secret he was sworn to protect, but Isobel was not given to asking much of him. After all she'd done for him, surely he could do this for her.

"Of course, Mum. We'll enter through the back door and I'll let Mary know you've arrived. Most of the staff have retired for the evening but Mary was still up when I left. I'll leave it to you and she to work out the rest."

They did just as Tom suggested, meeting no one in the servants' quarters much to their relief. Tom had Isobel wait in Elsie's sitting room while he took her valise and set off to find Mary. Mary returned with him moments later, a rather uncharacteristic look of concern upon her face.

"I'm afraid I can't share any more than Tom already has. I only need a place to stay for tonight, out from under any prying eyes." Isobel answered Mary's unspoken question.

"Well you know that's never a guarantee in this house," Mary said with a smirk and the other two agreed, "but you are most welcome to use my room. No one will look in there since I'm staying with George in the nursery, and you can have breakfast with me there in the morning."

Isobel squeezed Mary's hands in thanks. "And of course I'll help with George, since I've said it's the reason I'm here. Please come to me if you or he needs anything."

Mary nodded. "Do try to rest, Isobel. Whatever it is, perhaps it will look better by the light of morning."

Isobel had her doubts about that, but she thanked Mary and Tom and bade them good night.

Much as she suspected, Isobel did not sleep a wink. She cried. She paced. She played Richard's words over and over again in her head. She thought about all the times he'd lamented his solitary existence and the fact that she could fix that for him; knew the answer plain as day. If only she knew what he was thinking! If only … What, Isobel? Can you really fix him? Is that what he needs? His method has worked for him all this time; is it really wrong? Her head was swimming, her heart broken. She no longer knew anything except that she had hurt him. She had made him think she didn't love him as he was. The agony of that fact tore at her until she was sick to her stomach.

She joined Mary in the nursery at breakfast time and seeing George calmed her temporarily, but she retreated to Mary's room again afterward and remained there until Tom knocked on the door to take her and Elsie to Ripon.

"Mrs. Hughes is waiting for you in her sitting room. I'll go down ahead of you. Wait just a moment and come down the back stairs behind me. Most of them are away for the day but I understand discretion is of paramount importance here," Tom said, looking at her sadly. He could see she was in turmoil and it broke his heart. He remembered the promise he had made to Matthew at his burial. I'll look after her as my own mother. Whatever this was, he'd do his part to see her through it.

Isobel waited a measured amount of time after Tom's exit and traced his steps down to Elsie's sitting room. She knocked softly and as the door opened she fell into Elsie's waiting arms.

"There, now, Isobel," came the soothing voice of her friend as Isobel wept. "Let's get you into the car where we'll have more privacy, hmm?" Elsie looked at Tom and each took hold of one of Isobel's arms, not letting go until she was safely inside the vehicle.

"Whatever is the matter, now?" asked Elsie, pulling Isobel close.

Isobel leaned against Elsie's shoulder and drew a deep breath. "I may as well tell the both of you the basic gist," she sighed, catching Tom's eyes in the rear-view mirror. She proceeded to tell the story, mindful to share only the facts. Tom listened silently, reserving comment as he had promised he would. Elsie hummed her acknowledgement where appropriate and processed the information, determining how best to advise Isobel once they were alone.

The two women arrived at the tea room in Ripon and Isobel, a regular patron, requested the most private seating available, offering extra money to arrange it. They were shown to a booth in a secluded corner and Elsie took the liberty of ordering for them, seeing that Isobel was too distraught to care.

"Elsie, what on earth am I to do?" Isobel lamented.

"Well, my friend, I know what I think, but I also know that it may be a bitter pill for you to swallow. Are you sure you're ready to hear it?"

"Clearly I need to hear it from someone, and I'd rather it were you than anyone else I know," Isobel said, the look on her face pitiable.

Elsie answered with a compassionate expression, reaching across the table to cover Isobel's hand with her own. "The life you've led has its similarities to the life of Doctor Clarkson, certainly, but the two of you are far more different than you are alike. I'm sure you've often felt alone, but here's the truth: you fit easily into both the middle and upper classes. In either setting you have known companionship and love.

"Doctor Clarkson doesn't fit neatly into any class or category. Neither do I, for that matter, nor Mr. Carson. None of the three of us can find friends among those we serve. Nor can we find them among those who serve under us. Now, I've been lucky to find camaraderie with Mrs. Patmore because she works independently of me. And you and I are friends because you extend kindness to everyone and damn the consequences!"

This got Isobel to smile. It was a small one, but it brightened the atmosphere nonetheless. Elsie returned Isobel's smile and watched her expression carefully before continuing.

"So in spite of all the losses you've suffered - and believe me, I don't discount them - you have always had someone to care about you. Doctor Clarkson cannot say the same. Who in Downton fits into the same social strata as he? That's if his social standing can even be classified! I don't believe it can."

"Isobel, he has always been alone. He has built a life for himself, and it's an impressive one. He loves his patients and his hospital. But everything he has is based upon decisions he has made for himself; a lifetime of work that he and he alone has done. No one has ever handed that man anything. He has had to fight for it, and often against the very family you're now asking him to see himself as belonging to." At this Elsie paused, contemplating her next words.

"You cannot expect him to change his ways overnight. He may never change in the manner in which you want him to. Suppose he always feels some level of discomfort about his relationship to the Granthams? Are you going to be able to cope with that? Or did you marry him with an eye toward fixing him? Because you can't. Nor should you want to. His ways are no less valid than yours, are they? They're different, but they're equally admirable."

"Of course they're valid," Isobel said softly, blinking back tears. Elsie regarded her with sympathy and thought for a moment.

"I've seen the way he looks at you, Isobel. He has the utmost admiration for you; for your ability to speak your mind, for your kindness, and I'd even wager he loves the way you challenge him. But you must let him love you in the ways inherent to him. He needs to bend toward you sometimes, no doubt. But isn't that all he's done since Matthew died? He has never left your side, and I don't believe he begrudges you a moment of that time. That man is nothing if not loyal."

At this Isobel's tears spilled over. "I'm sorry," she whispered to Elsie.

Elsie shook her head. "Don't hold them back on my account. Your tears are most understandable." She paused for another moment, permitting herself time to formulate her thoughts and Isobel the opportunity to dry her tears.

"What I'm saying is that you must examine your heart. You have promised to love him. In order to do so, you're going to have to meet him where he is. You must have observed by now what makes him seem content. Am I right?"

Isobel nodded. "He loves to hear me tell him that I'm proud of him, of the life he's built and the choices he's made. And he loves …" Isobel hesitated, her cheeks reddening.

"Oh, for pity's sake! I haven't lived in a sack, Isobel! I'm aware that you're married and that there are certain … activities ... in which you engage. You may as well just say it!" At this both women laughed and Isobel heaved a sigh of relief.

"We're very … tactile. Both of us. He never seems more at peace than when we're in each other's arms. And he'll hear no argument from me on that front, if I may be so bold."

"Then love him in those ways, Isobel. You certainly have the responsibility to let him know when something you see in him concerns you, but tell him gently, and tell him once, and then if you tell him anything else it should be how much you trust him and how proud you are. Hold him, and be there for him in that way that no one else can. And I would bet anything that if you do these things, he'll feel safe enough with you that he'll begin to open up all on his own. Beyond that, talk to me about your concerns."

Isobel regarded Elsie incredulously. "That's sage advice if ever I've heard it. You've just solved all of my marital problems, Elsie. How on earth can it be that you're still single?!"

"Oh, my friend," Elsie sighed, "that's owed to the fact that it's far simpler to be circumspect about another's life than it is my own."

"Hear, hear," Isobel agreed. "So I haven't had the opportunity to tell you, but I had a conversation with your Mr. Carson on the eve of the wedding."

"My Mr. Carson," Elsie echoed, a silly, lovesick smile upon her face.

Isobel grinned. "Look at you! That's probably what I've looked like. Until last night, that is."

"You'll get it back," Elsie offered gently. "Of that I have no doubt. Now, about this conversation …"

"Yes, well, Richard and I had been to dinner at the Abbey and it was time for him to leave. He asked me to step outside with him so that our goodbye would be private. It was …" Isobel shook her head as she remembered the heated kiss she shared with Richard in the snow.

"Ah, see! There's the look, Isobel!" Elsie interjected.

Isobel giggled. "It was a moment I doubt I'll ever forget. Anyhow, when I came back inside, Mr. Carson met me at the stairs and we chatted for a moment about the wedding. And in typical fashion I probably said too much. He noted that I looked happy and that he was glad to see it after ... well, you know. After Matthew. And I replied that I was indeed happy, and that loving Richard is the sweetest, most unexpected gift I could ever have been given. I told him that I've seen the way you two look at each other, and that now that I have Richard, I know what he's missing. I urged him not to miss it."

"If it were anyone else telling me this I wouldn't believe them, but it sounds exactly like you, Isobel," Elsie said with a smile.

Isobel glanced mischievously at her friend and Elsie caught it. "Oh, Lord, what are you holding back? You can't tell me all this and then leave me hanging!"

"Well, you know how I operate: it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. So after I'd overstepped my boundaries I apologized for offending him, and he said that if my words hit a nerve it was because there was truth to them. And then he said …" Isobel reached across the table and took both of Elsie's hands in hers, looking her friend straight in the eye. "He said he loves you, Elsie."

Elsie's mouth fell open. "Isobel Clarkson! Do you swear you're not putting me on?"

"My hand to God," she replied, raising her right hand off the table for emphasis.

"Oh, my word," Elsie whispered, her hand coming up to cover her mouth for a moment. "What am I to do with this?"

"Does it shed any light on his behavior of late?" asked Isobel.

"If by acting like a petulant schoolboy he means to show some profession of undying love, then I suppose so. Otherwise …" Elsie trailed off.

"Oh, Elsie, I really believed he would say something to you after we spoke. Perhaps he did, though it beats me how he'd expect you to infer love from his pulling rank on you. I'm afraid it's my turn to give hard advice now, my friend. If he's not going to take the initiative, then you must." Isobel witnessed as Elsie winced in response to her words.

"Are you certain you're ready to hear this?" Isobel asked gently.

Elsie sighed. "No, but it's plain as day that unless one of us does something, Mr. Carson and I will never progress beyond secretly pining for one another and sharing the occasional nightcap." She drew a deep breath and worried her lip with her teeth. "All right, then. Go on."

"Well, allow me to preface all of this by saying I wouldn't suggest going in gangbusters like I would, or you'll put the poor man off you for good!" At this the two women roared with laughter, both needing some time to collect themselves before Isobel could continue.

When they had pulled themselves together Isobel went on. "In all seriousness, though, while you and I are very similar in that we both tend to lead with the heart, you seem to have a tighter rein on your self-control than I do, thank heavens. I believe it's that balance you strike - the balance between being ruled by intuition and sound judgment - that will serve Mr. Carson well."

"Well, you've certainly got my attention now, Isobel," Elsie said with a smile. "Do elaborate."

"Mr. Carson and Richard are quite alike in that they are men of tradition, quietly loyal and trustworthy and used to conducting their lives in a certain manner. As you so aptly pointed out earlier, they have both built their lives upon their own hard work and sound decisions. But it makes them terribly set in their ways and averse to change. Even change that would serve to benefit them, such as falling in love." Isobel watched as Elsie contemplated this, continuing on when Elsie's eyes met hers again.

"It seems to me as though the notion of loving you unsettles Mr. Carson because it never fit into his plan, the way he saw his life going."

"We had a conversation to that effect once, years ago," Elsie interjected. "I asked him whether he ever wished he'd gone another way; had a wife and children."

"And what was his response?" asked Isobel.

"He threw the question back at me first. I told him that yes, sometimes I had wondered what my life would be like if I hadn't entered service. It was only then that he admitted to me that he'd never thought about it."

"Right," Isobel agreed, "because to think about it would be to second-guess whether his chosen vocation was the right one, and suppose he were to determine it wasn't? Men like Mr. Carson need to feel steady. If they are to assimilate change, they need to see someone else navigate it successfully first. Let's take that conversation for example. He was only comfortable opening up to you after he'd heard you share your heart with him. Elsie, my friend, you may have to quite literally take him by the hand and show him that you'll be there, that you'll be steady for him. That you'll open your heart to him and will handle his with tenderness and respect. Those qualities are the hallmarks of his character, are they not?"

"Aye, they are indeed," Elsie said with admiration as she thought about Carson, the man.

"Well then, as a dear friend so recently reminded me …" Isobel squeezed Elsie's hand and they shared a knowing smile. "We would be wise to look to the ways in which the men we love demonstrate their love for us, and meet them where they are. So I ask you: what is it about Mr. Carson that you love most?"

Elsie looked thoughtful for several moments and then broke into a beatific smile. "He's … steady, Isobel. Where I am so easily caught up in a whim, he's the force that grounds me, brings me back to myself when I get carried away."

Isobel grinned. "Well, my friend, there's your answer. Find a time when you can offer him the same steadfast caring - and offer it. Don't shy away, show him that he can rely on you as you rely on him."

The afternoon passed companionably, both women finding great relief in the ability to laugh at themselves and each other and the opportunity to get their minds off their own troubles. Even so, there was a point at which Isobel began to feel anxious, and it was not lost on Elsie.

"You miss him," she observed.

Isobel nodded. "We did not part on favorable terms. He said he felt as though he hadn't the space to breathe, and I responded by filling a suitcase and telling him that if breathing room was what he wanted, then he'd get it. And then I called Tom and asked him to take me to the Abbey. This after I promised Richard that the night before the wedding was the last one we'd spend apart. But I truly didn't see how I could stay around after he threw down that gauntlet."

Elsie hummed her understanding. "Perhaps you could've done without the cheek, but the separation was likely what he needed. But I'd hazard it makes you uncertain of the environment to which you'll be returning."

"It does. And I know I'm due a rather large serving of humble pie, and that I must accept whatever mood he's in when I return. What frightens me is the thought that he may not want to see me at all. As much as I enjoyed arguing with him when it came to work …"

She noted Elsie's surprised expression and augmented her statement. "I know, I must be mad, but I got such a thrill from being the one to raise his ire! Anyhow, as much as I enjoyed our professional disagreements, I can't bear seeing him angry at me as my husband. I'll do whatever I can to ensure it doesn't happen often."

"Aye, but you're not perfect, Isobel, and neither is he. You know that you'll slip up on occasion. And sometimes he'll be cross with you and it'll be no fault of your own. But surely I don't need to tell you this. You were married before; you and Reginald must have had your share of disagreements."

"We did, but he was more similar to me in the ways in which we communicated than Richard is. And it was different with Reginald. We were children, really, when we started out. If we fumbled at first it was forgivable. Lack of life experience and all that. We were far more lighthearted. I didn't have a decade's worth of history with him before our relationship began the way I do with Richard. I feel as if I know Richard far better than I ever knew Reggie, and let me tell you, that was disarming at first. Everything about my relationship with Richard is intense. I suppose you could put that down to any number of factors: the combination of our personalities, the fact that we do have such a long and storied history, the knowledge that as we look upon the horizon of our life together, we both know that due to age there will be a natural end someday. It's overpowering, and it's sweet. But it's clearly additionally difficult when something's amiss."

"Well, we'd best be getting you back to him. I maintain that you go to him, hat in hand, and as you apologize, really try to see the situation from his perspective. And then love him in those ways he best responds to. That man is so desperately in love with you, Isobel. I would wager anything that you are his whole heart. But inherent in that is a delicate balance. He puts so much weight on the esteem in which you hold him. You have the power to build him up or tear him apart with one word. So choose your words wisely, my friend."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isobel quotes Song of Solomon 2:10-11 (ASV - it's the closest I could come to the English Revised Version they would have read from).

Tom dropped Elsie off at the Abbey first as it was on the way to the Clarksons' cottage.

"Best of luck to you, my friend," Elsie said to Isobel by way of a goodbye. "You know where I am if you need me."

Isobel nodded, smiling graciously, and squeezed Elsie's hand as she steeled herself for her arrival at home.

Tom sensed her apprehension. "Mum, I want you to listen to me now. I've kept my thoughts to myself as you asked but I know you, and I've sworn upon Matthew's memory to look out for you, and I know that if he were here he'd be saying his piece right about now." He met Isobel's eyes with a slightly defiant look in his own.

The mother in her thrilled at seeing it; this young man, his opinions, the fire inside him. Less refined than the fire inside Matthew; less well-honed, but sometimes that was a good thing. Sometimes that was the best thing.

"Can't say you're wrong about that," Isobel said, unable to erase the small smirk of maternal pride from her face. "Go on then, son."

Tom spoke masterfully. He was respectful while at the same time making it clear that there was no room to convince him; the matter was settled in his mind. "I can see both sides of the coin here. You're right; Doctor Clar—" he fumbled, "Richa—" and again, looking straight into Isobel's eyes. "Look, I understand that you mean - that the family means - to make him feel welcome and that's all well and good, but for now I, personally, am going to take it slowly with him. If it's all the same to you then he shall remain Doctor Clarkson to me until he is comfortable with less formality. I could have benefited from the same courtesy myself, and now that I have the chance to impart it to another, I'm going to do exactly that."

Isobel nodded. "You're suggesting that I approach the situation likewise. I'll admit, hearing both you and Elsie express the same sentiment has caused me to see it through Richard's eyes where I hadn't before. I can certainly appreciate your struggle and the fact that it's ongoing. I can see now that Richard faces much the same conflict." She cast her eyes downward and Tom felt her remorse.

"Then I suppose I don't need to tell you that I think you may have come down a bit hard on him," he said as he pulled up to the cottage, parking the car.

She sighed. "You don't, but I deserve to hear it nonetheless. Well, son, good show. Consider me appropriately chastened." She regarded him with a look of resignation.

"Now, that doesn't sound like you at all, Mum! You get a bee in your bonnet and God help anyone who stands in your way. Find that same determination in this case, and you'll be fine."

"Thank you, Tom. I can manage getting my things into the house. I'll call you in the next couple of days." He came around the car and opened her door nonetheless. She embraced him and they said their goodbyes, then Tom waited until he saw her enter the house before driving off.

Isobel stepped inside, set her valise down, and hung up her coat. Richard's car was in the drive; he had to be at home. She listened for him but heard nothing.

She found him in his study. He was seated at his desk, staring with eyes red-rimmed and unseeing at a journal article, a glass of something strong in his hand.

"Richard." She spoke his name softly and he looked up at her.

"Isobel." He rose from his chair and came to stand, close enough to touch but not touching her.

"I'm—" she began.

"I, ah—" he said at the same time. Each looked down shyly before meeting the other's eyes.

"Please," she said, "you first."

"I was … rather shocked that you left."

A cutting response was right on the tip of her tongue, but Isobel heard Elsie's voice in her head. 'You have the power to build him up or tear him apart with one word. So choose your words wisely, my friend.'

"You indicated that you felt the need for breathing room. I … believed I was giving it to you. I took a cheap shot and it was unnecessary and I … Richard." She laid her hands on his forearms, entreating him to look at her. "I'm sorry."

He grasped her hands and she let go a sigh of relief. Being bereft of his touch had felt akin to being deprived of his love, and his gesture - small though it was - rekindled a sacred connection between them.

"Shall we sit down?" he asked, and she nodded. She followed him into the sitting room, where he sat in his armchair and she took up the end of the sofa nearest him, angling her body toward his. Their fingertips brushed and it soothed her churning stomach.

"The separation was necessary," he conceded, and she looked at him in surprise. "I think we both needed to put distance between ourselves and the issue. Or perhaps that was just me."

She considered him thoughtfully. "No, it wasn't just you. If I'd stayed any longer, I'd have been purely caustic. But I could have asked you if you wanted me to leave, or told you I was considering it. Impulse control is not a virtue of mine, in case notice of such fact had slipped past you." Her self-deprecating smile caused the corners of his mouth to lift slightly in response.

They were silent for a moment, Richard watching Isobel carefully. She looked as broken as he felt and the urge to pull her into his arms was strong, but something held him back.

She lifted her eyes and spoke in a manner uncharacteristically subdued. "There is no excuse for my cruelty but, Richard … your words cut me to the heart. Is that really what you think? That I'm so outspoken you feel you've lost your voice?" She turned her face away as her eyes filled with tears. "That I don't love you as you are?" she whispered hollowly.

"The truth?" he asked, inching infinitesimally closer to her.

She drew a deep breath and nodded, bracing against his answer.

"Sometimes, Isobel. You may be impulsive and innovative and open to the very change I kick against but, all that said, you're just as set in your ways as I when it comes to the dynamics of our relationship. I suppose we're equally guilty there. I've typecast you as irrational, I'll admit. And you're not ... at least not in so great a measure that it defines you."

"Thank you," she whispered, her expression uncertain. He laced his fingers through hers though they maintained their relative positions.

"My approach to you has been all wrong," she confessed. "I cannot expect you'll be keen to open up to me if out of one corner of my mouth I'm urging you to speak up while from the other I'm berating you for not doing so. I assure you my reasons were noble—"

He cut in on her. "They always are, Isobel. I've never doubted your motives." His words and his eyes spoke of his sincerity.

She squeezed his hand and smiled even as tears pooled in the corners of her own eyes. "But clearly it fell apart when it came to execution. What I meant - what I feel in the deepest part of my heart - is that I hold your opinions in the highest regard. Yours is a perspective so different to mine but so insightful and so dear to me, and it challenges me; causes me to consider avenues I wouldn't on my own. I meant to encourage you to share that perspective more readily. But in so doing I caused you to hear disapproval; displeasure with your character. And nothing could be farther from the truth."

He came to sit beside her on the sofa, maintaining a cautious distance but close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him in waves. "We've more to discuss, but I wonder whether you'd allow me to hold you?" he asked softly, almost timidly.

Isobel pressed a hand to her mouth and tried - but failed - to hold back tears. When she caught her breath she managed, "I wasn't sure whether you'd want to."

"Now, or ever?" he asked in reply. He wasn't aware that she'd been so deeply hurt, and his own heart ached at the knowledge. He had made her feel that way.

"Both, I suppose," she confessed in a near-whisper.

"Come," he said, and drew her to sit across his lap. His arms came around her waist and hers around his shoulders. She took up the position that gave her the greatest comfort - face tucked in against his neck, lips pressed against his carotid pulse. They held each other in silence, his hands smoothing the length of her back, feeling the tension in her posture, willing it away.

She looked up at him after a time, lifting a hand to his face, tracing the contours of his sharply-defined features. Her free hand cradled the back of his head and drew it down until she could press her lips against his forehead. "I want to lie down with you. Just lie down; just be close." Her voice broke. "I was afraid, Richard," she whispered.

He shook his head, kissing the tears away as they fell from her eyes. "Don't be afraid, Isobel. Let's go to bed." He held her hand as they made their way upstairs.

She hesitated when it came time to undress. For years she had dreamed of what it would be like, the intimacy of peeling back the layers; allowing him to see her both metaphorically and literally. And little by little over these past months, and then in far greater measure over the last week, she had learned that it was glorious, this laying bare of her body when he already owned her soul at its most base level. Yet more profound was the experience when it was he who undressed her, those times when his touch communicated what words could not: Thank you for what we share. I see you. I know you. I love you completely. You are mine. But that was before …

Before. And now she picked up her dressing gown where it hung over the bedpost and slipped into the bathroom, where she stripped down to her brassiere and knickers, slipped on her nightgown despite the early hour and secured the dressing gown around herself. She took down her hair without sparing a glance at her reflection, afraid of what it might betray. Deep breath.

She returned to the bedroom to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, perched uneasily. His posture mirrored her anguish and it softened her heart to know he felt the strain too. They turned back the covers. She looked at him and caught him watching her.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but what could she say? She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head in a manner that said, I feel utterly exposed right now. Completely vulnerable.

"Isobel," Richard said gently, "it's alright. It's going to be alright."

She nodded, fumbling with the ties, finally undoing them and letting the robe drop to the floor as she ducked quickly beneath the covers.

"Do you want …" he said, not bothering to finish as he curled himself around her from behind, his arm coming around her waist, hand pressing against her belly. Her favorite; the embrace that made her feel the most secure. Desired. Loved.

"Yes." It came out halfway between a whisper and a sob and she nodded emphatically. She moved her hand atop his, lacing their fingers together.

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. "Did you sleep here last night?" It mattered to her for reasons she didn't quite understand.

"No." She heard his reply as well as felt it against her scalp where he buried his face in her hair. "Couldn't bear it. Bed was too big without you. Too empty."

His answer brought the most minute of smiles to her lips. As cross as he may have been; as she may have been, he had missed her.

No more words were said. They lay together, and Richard stroked Isobel's hair, and for the moment it was enough. Resolution eluded them, but both seemed to sense that they would face their troubles together; not as he versus she but as they two against the threat to their unity. Exhaustion claimed them and they fell into a dreamless sleep.

It was still dark when Isobel woke. She reached across the bed for Richard and came up empty-handed. Tensions still ran high between them and instantly her senses were on alert. She sat bolt upright in bed as fear closed around her heart like a vise.

"Isobel, I'm here," came his gentle voice. He was only across the room, adding wood to the fire.

"Richard." He heard the edge of fear and subsequent relief in her tone, and he came and sat beside her on the edge of the bed.

"Cold," she whispered, rubbing her arms. He picked up her dressing gown and wrapped both the garment and his arms around her.

"Didn't know we would sleep so long," he explained. "The fire went out. It'll be warm again soon." There was either promise or irony in those words, she thought, in relation to their current circumstances.

"Still dark," she observed. Easier to talk of trivialities. "What time is it?"

"Just gone half four. Do you want to get up now, or would you rather go back to bed?" As his palm smoothed along her back he felt a bit of the tension leave her body.

"Imagine it'll be warmer downstairs, wouldn't you say?" He nodded and she continued, "I'll make coffee, or tea if you'd rather. I think I'm in need of something strong."

"Coffee sounds wonderful." He wrapped his dressing gown around himself and they went downstairs, Isobel into the kitchen and Richard the sitting room.

After adding wood to the downstairs fireplace, Richard came into the kitchen. Isobel was standing at the stove waiting for the kettle to boil and he stepped up to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her back against him. She let herself be held, relaxing into him and saying a silent prayer of thanks for their physicality. Neither had the words for all that had gone wrong between them, but they still had this, that bond that transcended the need for speech.

"Thank you … for this," she said faintly, her hands coming up to cover his at her waist. He tightened his hold on her and rested his chin on her shoulder. She had walked out, but now she couldn't bear the thought of physical separation from him. If he'd still been in a contentious frame of mind he might have brought that knowledge to bear against her, but he could see that she was suffering enough from the natural consequences of her actions without him adding fuel to that fire.

"Always," he said simply. The word was spoken right into her ear and it was exactly the right thing to say, his timing impeccable. She turned in his arms and hers came around his neck, and there they remained until the whistling of the kettle drew her attention away.

He held her coffee mug as she settled on the sofa and covered herself with a blanket before coming to sit beside her. They sipped in silence. Isobel reached for Richard's hand and breathed easier as his warm fingers enclosed hers.

"You're still freezing, darling!" He pulled her closer, his touch once more chipping away at the barrier standing between them.

She nodded her acknowledgement of his comment. "Darling," she echoed mirthlessly, barely a breath.

"Yes. Look at me," he commanded, and waited until she did before continuing. "Self-flagellation doesn't become you, Isobel. I've put enough distance between myself and the row that I can talk about it now. Supposing you're ready, that is."

"Of course," she replied. Sure enough, Elsie was right. By giving Richard time and allowing their physical closeness to cross the divide, Isobel had communicated trust in him and brought him to a place of being ready to communicate.

They sat lengthwise on opposite ends of the sofa, facing one another.

"Let me begin by saying that your presence in my life is the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are the only woman for me, Isobel. While you infuriate me like no other, you alone bring me greater joy than I ever believed myself capable of feeling. I was unnecessarily harsh the other night. You bless me with your beautiful mind and your ability to so clearly communicate your thoughts. I suppose I …" He trailed off, looking away.

She knew he was about to reveal a chink in his armor and she squeezed his hand by way of reassurance.

"I suppose the ease with which you express yourself intimidates me," he continued. And over the course of our relationship, regardless of its nature, I've set you up as the one who speaks her mind and myself as the one whose perspective gets pushed aside. That's unfair to you. How would you know I'd drawn that line in the sand when I never told you? It pits us one against the other no matter what you say. I'm sorry for that, love."

She smiled her thanks. "It's alright. You're not wrong, you know. Not entirely. I know I already expressed my regret for stepping on your toes, but it bears repeating considering the extent of the rift between us. Perhaps it took hearing it from Elsie to make me realize this …" Isobel recalled her friend's judicious counsel with a fond expression. "She told me that I would be wise to look to the ways in which you express love to me for guidance in how best to reach your heart. And that's going to mean taking a far gentler approach than I would if left to my own devices."

He scooted closer, lifting her hand to his lips to kiss the back of it. "I appreciate that, but it would serve me well to recognize your tenacity as love, not as fault-finding. It goes both ways."

She nodded. "It does. My greatest regret in all of this is that I've set myself up as some kind of expert on marriage. I may have been married for many years, but that was a long time ago, for one. Reginald was a different man than you are. You're brilliant, the both of you. The loves of my life, but you're not much alike. And I'm a very different woman than I was then. Richard …" She took both of his hands in hers. "The truth is that I've no idea as yet what it means to be married to you. It's altogether different from my first marriage and from our past as colleagues. It's uncharted territory for both of us and we must learn to sink or swim together. I am just as much of a novice as you. I'm sure my attitude has been rather alienating and that was not my intention at all."

"Thank you, my darling," he said mildly.

She looked at him for permission to come closer, and there it was. The ability to have an entire conversation by looking into the other's eyes had not been destroyed in the fight. He nodded, reclining, and she moved closer until she lay her head on his chest.

"Warm now," she breathed, and he hummed his agreement. Warm again, the chill gone. Just before sleep claimed her once more she shared the thought that came to mind:

My beloved spake and said to me:  
'Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.  
For, lo, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone.'

"Yes," he agreed. "I love you." Ah, to say those words again!

"Love you," she answered with a drowsy smile. Reconciled, they slept again.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to be alright.

It was morning proper when next Isobel awoke, her head buried in the warm juncture between Richard's neck and shoulder. His arms still enfolded her, one palm resting in the center of her back, the other on her hip. She stretched, her limbs a bit stiff from sleeping on the sofa. He sighed in his sleep as she moved against him and she lifted her head to look at him.

Beautiful, she mouthed silently as she brushed the backs of her fingers over his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. And he was. Principally devoted to her, to loving her well. He had given far more ground than she in that regard, had bent and stretched and expanded the boundaries of his own personal comfort to accommodate her.

As she watched him sleep she was reminded of his humanity, and hers. In her eyes he was a giant among men, but he was still just a man. His life and character were defined by sound judgment but he was still only flesh, as fallen as she. And she, for all the good intentions and high ideals that moved her so readily into action, was only a woman. She realized that once again, for all that she had warned him against it, they had each set the other upon so high a pedestal that they had forgotten their flawed nature. The fact that they were perfectly suited to one another would never make either of them perfect. The solution was to move forward in grace. No marriage ever suffered at the hands of too much forgiveness.

She kissed his lips lightly even as he slept, and rose gingerly so as not to disturb him. She situated his legs to afford him more comfort and tucked their heaviest woolen blanket around him. She was not as practiced as he at keeping the fire, but she adjusted the damper and added two more logs and a bit of kindling so that when he woke it would be suitably warm and one less task for him to attend to.

Richard came awake to the sound of Isobel working in the kitchen. He smelled fresh bread baking, heard her humming softly. He saw how she had tucked him in, felt the warmth from the fire, and was momentarily overwhelmed by her love. He knew she was an instinctive nurturer, that it was as natural as breathing for her to want to do for him, to ease his burden in whatever way she could, but he supposed he did not stop to recognize this often enough. It was true that she was riddled with eccentricities, but no more so than he.

And she loved him. It was less than perfection and more than he deserved; it was, simply, theirs.

He stood in the kitchen doorway and watched her, admiring the way she moved so gracefully through their home. She was dressed in one of his favorite blouses, a deep plum color that brought out the blush in her cheeks. As she opened the oven door and bent to remove the loaf of bread, his eye was drawn to the delectable curve of her bottom in the charcoal grey skirt he suspected she wore because she knew just how much he appreciated what it did for her figure. He supposed he could accept her meddling, sometimes overzealous nature since it was so inherent in her character to love him with abandon.

He stepped up behind her as she boiled eggs on the stovetop, his hand settling on her hip.

"Good morning, beauty," he said warmly. The feeling of his breath on the back of her neck sent pleasant shivers up and down her spine and she turned in his arms.

"Did you sleep well? I hope you found it suitably warm in there." She slid her palms beneath the fabric of his dressing gown to press against the bare flesh of his midriff and was rewarded with a soft moan from him.

He nodded as the hand holding her hip slid to her bottom. "Don't discount your prowess with the fire. You've improved most impressively in that regard." A beat, and then, "I'm glad to have you home, Isobel. It's important that you know that. I want you here, and for all that I've apologized I would be sorely remiss if I didn't say that to you."

She smiled brightly. Love him gently. Let him be. In his own time, he will open up. It was paying off already.

"Thank you for welcoming me home, Richard. For your forgiveness." She looked down shyly for a moment. The words, the words. They were reunited, most of the breach repaired, but she still felt unsure about whether those three sacred words would be received. This was, after all, entirely new to her, to them. They'd said them in the night, but it had been the one and only utterance since the blowup. They would get it back, the natural, easy rhythm they were learning, but for the moment there remained an open wound.

He saw her hesitation, the flash of pain across her eyes. "What is it, Bel?" He drew her closer and her arms wound around his neck.

"I love you, Richard. Is it too soon to say it? I'm learning to measure my words but it hurts not to say that to you."

He led her by the hand over to the table, where he pulled a chair out for her and dragged a second over to face it. They sat down and he took both of her hands in his. When he looked at her there was a solemnity in his eyes the likes of which she had never seen.

"Isobel," he began, and then paused as he choked back a sob. His emotions were very close to the surface and he'd never felt more exposed. She recognized it for what it was and stroked her thumbs over his knuckles soothingly as fat teardrops rolled down her cheeks. "If I fail to communicate anything else to you during the course of our lives together, you must know this: regardless of how cross you make me, I will always love you. I was furious with you, but at no point did I love you any less. I never could. I never will. If I may be so bold, I want us to promise that no matter how heated our arguments become, we will never withhold those words from one another. Will you agree to that with me?"

She nodded, never more grateful for his analytical mind. Ground rules. Fighting fair. She and Reginald had had them. It only made sense. "Of course," she replied, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"I never want you to feel as though you can't tell me you love me, or that I can't say it to you. I'm not often this way but upon this I'm afraid I must insist." His voice broke and he ended on a whisper, the blue of his eyes blazing with sincerity. "I love you, Isobel."

She stood abruptly, dropped into his lap and nearly crushed him with the force of her embrace. After a moment he took hold of her upper arms, pushing her back gently to look at her face.

He brought one hand to the back of her neck, his thumb rubbing soothingly over the soft skin. With the other hand he cupped her cheek in his palm. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes. Smiling, he kissed each eyelid, the tip of her nose and then, with aching slowness, traced the fullness of her lips with the tip of his tongue.

"Oh, God," she whispered into his open mouth, anticipation humming like electric current through her body. Their first proper kiss since … Since. She could easily have taken control in that moment, but it was important to her that she receive this from him.

He caught her bottom lip between both of his and then between his teeth, nipping indelicately at the soft flesh. Her fingers curled into his scalp as he parted her lips with his own. His kiss was savage; searing. Branding her as his and their love as impenetrable.

They went walking in the afternoon, back behind the cottage, beyond the border of the yard and into what would, in spring, be open meadow hemmed in at the perimeters by woods and, beyond that, the village. It had been Isobel's idea to get out of the house, to clear the air both literally and figuratively of any last vestiges of hurt. Richard had been surprised but pleased by her suggestion. It was snowing, and Isobel didn't usually care much for the cold.

"You're sure about this, darling?" he asked as they left the house.

She smiled at him as he clasped her gloved hand in his. "I am rather," she said brightly.

"But you're not fond of winter, love. Haven't been in all the years I've known you."

They were getting their banter back, slowly but surely, and both of them felt relief.

"Well, a very handsome and very persuasive Scottish doctor kissed me in the snow about a week ago and caused me to reconsider my position …" She turned serious for a moment. "Richard, I've reconsidered my position on more than just that."

He regarded her with intrigue. "I'm listening," he said.

Yes, you are, she thought. He was so very good at listening; better than anyone else she knew.

She eyed him with a moment's hesitation. "This is in regard to the family. If you're not ready to discuss it I'll let it lie."

They had reached a natural windbreak by a stand of evergreen trees and Richard brushed the snow off a log, gesturing for Isobel to take a seat, and then sat down next to her.

"No, darling, it's alright. I handled myself rather poorly in that regard, to put it mildly."

"That's as may be, but after speaking to both Elsie and Tom I have a clearer understanding of your perspective. I want to hear from you, but I feel I must apologize for failing to consider what a strange position you're in now."

He nodded. "It is that. It's not that I don't appreciate their willingness to accept me as one of the family, but it's going to take some time to get used to the idea. As long as I remain in their employ, I'll never consider myself on equal footing with them." Their eyes met and he anticipated her unasked question. "And no, I'm not ready, just now, to consider retirement."

"No, I don't suppose you are," she responded gently. "There's a great deal of good still to be done, and you're the man to do it. If it matters, there's no question in my mind where my allegiance would lie in a disagreement between you and them in regard to the hospital. Even if I were personally opposed to your position, as your wife I would support you. I'll always choose you, Richard. You know that, don't you?" She squeezed both of his hands emphatically.

"It's a weight off my shoulders to hear you say it, my love. And I never intend to make you choose. I find I rather take to the idea of Tom as your surrogate son. He's a fine young man in a difficult position, and his devotion to you is unwavering. And it's quite extraordinary to suddenly find myself a grandfather." He sighed and she sensed he was reaching the end of his ability to discuss the situation without frustration. "I'll get there, Bel."

She linked her arm through his and lay her head on his shoulder, the contact vital to them both. "I know you will. Tom and George are an excellent start. I can't promise you and I will always see eye to eye as far as the family is concerned. But darling, even if it continues to be a struggle, it will not change my love for you. If you take nothing else away from all we've discussed, please know that."

He drew her into his arms in response, and this time it was he who tucked his face in against her neck. Vulnerable as he felt, he needed the security of her touch, her warmth. She knew the conversation was over and that he'd heard what she needed him to hear.

They walked on after a time, chatting easily about the house, the land, their hopes for a garden in the spring. Isobel knew that Richard had purchased the cottage from the Granthams after the Great War, but what she didn't know was that it came with such a large parcel of land, stretching back farther than they'd walked, as far back as the creek that the hunting parties crossed when they rode out from the Abbey.

"Have you ever considered doing anything with the land?" she asked, intrigued.

"There's a clearing, just the other side of those trees, where I've imagined building a house of my own one day. I had the option to buy the cottage by itself or the land along with it and I opted for both because it would ensure that the land's not developed. While I love the village, when I'm home I want by and large to be alone. The appeal of the cottage has grown on me, however, since you've come to live there." He nudged her shoulder playfully as they walked along and she smiled a bit coquettishly in response. "I suppose the short answer is that I don't know. It's nice to have if for nothing else than to hunt on my own property."

She smiled. "You and Matthew would have had that in common. He was quite adept at hunting small game. That was Reggie's doing; something the two of them enjoyed very much."

He saw sadness pass across her eyes and halted them both, pulling her into his embrace. Neither spoke; he simply held her.

At times like this his quiet nature and inherent sense of empathy were precisely what she needed. Not for the first time since they had begun to reconcile she thought, imperfect, but perfect for me.

When she pulled away, he could see the her strength renewed.

"Thank you," she said earnestly. "No one else can do that for me, Richard."

He kissed her lips, tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and they headed for home.

They spent the evening following dinner in separate orbits. A sacred bond between them had been severed and was well on its way to being restored, but Rome wasn't built in a day. It occurred to Isobel that perhaps Richard wasn't the only one who needed separation in order to appreciate their togetherness.

While he passed the time reading the newspaper, she spent hours at the piano, the music filling a hole in her soul that even he could not. He was so very many things to her, but he could not be her everything any more than she could be his.

After a time he moved his reading into the bedroom, setting more wood on the fire and settling beneath the covers in his pajamas and dressing gown, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. She came in to ready herself for the bath and paused in the doorway to take in the sight of him. It blessed her, the fact that she was allowed to see this side of him. Warm and approachable and human; perhaps even the slightest bit frail. Suddenly the significance of the fact that it was only she who had ever been allowed to see him this way overwhelmed her.

She approached him, dropping a kiss on the crown of his head. He looked up at her with a smile, catching her hand in his.

"I was going to take a bath, love. Is there anything I can do for you first?"

"Not a thing, my darling. You relax. The fires are set for the night and I've locked the doors." He smoothed a hand along her hip and she smiled affectionately, kissing his lips quickly before she walked away.

The thought of closing herself off from him in the bathroom was odd, unsettling. But neither did it seem right to leave the door open as had become her newfound custom. It was absurd; he had had her beneath him and above him and surrounding him in the most intimate of ways. He alone had seen her at her most fragile and had handled her heart in its most blessedly broken state. In her mind she knew that time was a necessary component in the process of healing and that, as yet, relatively little of it had been put between them and the fight. But her heart grieved for what had been lost, and as she sank beneath the bubbles she let the tears fall silently.

Putting on her knickers, nightgown and dressing gown after the bath felt like sheathing herself in armor. In such a short amount of time she had become so uninhibited in showing her body to him, but now she felt she couldn't risk such exposure. She heaved an aggrieved sigh, her heart so heavy she wondered if the weight of it would crush her chest. This pain was different to the grief she lived with daily now. Perhaps less severe, but more acute. Sharp, breath-stealing heartache. Time heals, she scoffed. Well, for God's sake then, roll on time.

Richard looked up as Isobel exited the bathroom, surprised for a moment to see her in high-necked, full-length cotton. She had not worn those nightgowns since she had become his wife. It hurt him to see tangible evidence of a missing link in the chain. Her eyes were soft as she shed her dressing gown and climbed into bed beside him, but otherwise her expression was unreadable.

He hung his own robe on the bedpost and deposited his book and his glasses on the nightstand beside him as she put out her light. When he turned toward her she was lying on her back, eyes closed; he suspected it was due more to the fact that she felt assailable than that she was tired. He was as uncertain as she was as to the protocol appropriate in this situation, but he hated seeing her punish herself.

He kissed her shoulder and she opened her eyes, turning her face toward him. He saw the raw edge, the fear and discomfort bubbling just below the surface in her honest gaze.

"I don't know how to do this," she confessed in a hoarse whisper.

"Neither do I," he admitted, emboldened by her forthrightness. "Come here." He put a hand on her forearm and she turned her body toward his. His arm came around her and he held her in silence. They listened to the rhythm of their breathing. She took his hand and brushed her open palm back and forth against his.

There was something surprisingly intimate for Richard in that simple gesture, and he moaned at the openness of the contact.

She gasped when she heard it and her eyes shot open. When she looked at him she could see his own eyes beginning to darken with arousal.

"Richard?"

He heard so much in those two syllables: relief, apprehension, intrigue, desire.

"I want you, Isobel." His eyes were honest, his voice unashamed, and he let his - request? statement? - hang in the air. He heard her suck in a breath and waited for the exhale, but it didn't come. He tugged on her hand to get her attention.

"Are you alright?"

"I don't know," came her reply in a voice uncharacteristically timid.

"We don't have to," he said gently.

This caused her to smile at his gentleness. He had every right to demand it of her, but he would never want her if she gave herself to him begrudgingly.

"Thank you for that, my darling. I want to. I just … This is all so very new."

"It is," he agreed, his lips brushing her forehead. "We need this, I think. I know I need you. Is that alright?"

"I think so," she answered. "I want to sound more confident than that but …" She looked away demurely. "I love you."

"Then let me," he whispered, his hand coming under her head to cradle it as he brushed his lips against hers.

Moments later she was kissing back ardently, biting at his lips and clutching at his shoulders. This is easy, she thought as she smiled a triumphant smile against his mouth. This is us. This is home.

"Alright?" he asked again, between kisses. She reached up to trace his brow with gentle fingers.

"Yes," she replied, sounding more and more like his Isobel.

He knelt above her, slowly raising the hem of her nightgown. He slid his hands around the backs of her calves, moving his fingers slowly upward, finding the sensitive places behind her knees and stroking with gentle thumbs. Her knees fell apart and she moaned softly. He watched her eyes carefully and she regarded him openly and with desire. He held her gaze as his hands moved over the soft flesh of her inner thighs, cupping her bottom and tugging at her knickers, pulling them down her legs and off.

Seeing no hesitation in her eyes, he pressed a warm palm against her belly and nipped lightly at the skin where her hip and thigh met. He nuzzled his nose into the curls at her apex, the scent of her arousal intoxicating. Her fingers curled in his hair and he understood she was trying to get his attention.

"Yes, Richard," she panted, her eyes gone dark. "More. Please." They hadn't done this yet, not in earnest. A singular kiss once or twice, his fingers readying her for him, but nothing more until …

Until now, and it probably should have alarmed her, the ease with which she had transitioned from fearful and reticent to willing and, if she hadn't been well and properly married - well, the only word that came to mind was wanton. But instead it seemed so very fitting that as they moved beyond broken bonds and separation they went even farther ... into new territory … forging a deeper sense of trust. This was so very right and so very them and his tongue stroked her, delicately and then not so delicately until her breathing was labored and the room began to spin and she pulled him from her.

She kissed him fiercely, tasting herself on him and she'd never done that before. She sucked his tongue into her mouth and breathed the breath from his lungs and knew what she needed.

"Need to feel you … all of you," she breathed, and he helped her to sit up. She raised her arms above her head and he divested her of her nightgown. She made quick work of the buttons on his pajama top and began kissing and tasting the warm skin of his shoulders and chest as she pushed the garment off and away. Her tongue dipped into his navel and he cursed as his trousers became uncomfortably restrictive. She rid him unceremoniously of them along with his undershorts and came to rest with her head on his belly as she took him in her hand. Her tongue traced a path from one hipbone to the other and down, down, down. She wrapped her hand around his base and placed a kiss to the tip of him.

His head jerked up. They hadn't done this yet either. He would never presume on her willingness, her trust, like that. Especially not now. "Jesus, Bel, you don't have to! I don't expect—"

She cut him off with the press of a finger to his lips. "You don't think I know that?! Of course I do, and that's why I want to. I love you, Richard. Let me." She entreated him with wide brown eyes full of trust and love and the desire to please.

He drew her to him. "Yes," he whispered against her irresistible mouth.

She lingered on his lips for a moment before her hands and mouth began to wander and explore once more. When she took the length of him in her mouth she felt him strain to resist thrusting into her. He clutched at great handfuls of the sheets, knuckles white as he determined not to bury his fingers in her hair and tug forcefully. He would not be that man. His love was a lady, her gesture a gift of the most intimate kind.

"Relax, love," she soothed. "Don't try so hard. You won't offend me if you move a little. I understand." She kissed his lips hungrily and when he responded she knew it was the time to return her attentions to this new method of making love to him. She lapped at him, gratified when he began to lift his hips in rhythm with her ministrations. He moaned and cursed and whispered her name and it was half English, half Gaelic and wholly beautiful.

When he felt his control begin to slip he gathered her against him and she held him, carding her fingers through his hair.

"Isobel, if I don't stop you now I'm afraid I won't last. I love it, my beauty, I just … I want to make you feel good again."

"Oh, darling," she whispered, overcome with love for him. "Come inside."

He rose over her and her legs wrapped around his hips and he was buried inside her in one stroke. He stopped moving as he bottomed out within her and their gazes locked, speaking what neither could put into words.

Full, so full. So deep.

Warm and wet and tight and heavenly.

We're alright now. I'm home.

Whole again.

He began to move and she lifted her hips, rolling up into him, meeting him thrust for thrust. She felt free, free to enjoy him loving her; the friction and the slide, and the sting as his teeth nipped at her collarbones. She stilled his movements long enough to turn them so that she straddled his hips. It was different this way, a deep rocking back and forth, but it was so deep indeed that she felt him in every cell of her being.

He palmed her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over the nipples and she clutched at his shoulders.

"God, yes," she whimpered, "don't stop!" She rose and fell on him languidly, savoring his every moan and sigh. As he massaged her breasts she brought her hand to the place where they were joined, touching both herself and him and their eyes were open, neither unable to stop looking into the other's soul.

She broke first, and though she had been building steadily toward it from the time he kissed her that morning she was still surprised by the power with which release overtook her. She let him watch her eyes and he thought his heart would burst when he saw, behind all the lust and want, the love. Unbroken, unchanged, and stronger now for their recent hardship.

When she came back to herself she pulled at him, encouraging him to lay her down again. He rolled her beneath him and she took him deep within her. "I don't want you to be gentle. Let go, Richard. Let go for me. I'm yours, love … let go."

It was all the encouragement he needed and he grasped her hands where they lay on either side of her head, locking their fingers together as he surged and retreated, over and over.

She murmured to him, apologies for all the hurtful things she'd said and all the ones she should've said instead, and in between all those words she repeated her blessing. "I love you … let go."

His rhythm began to falter and she tightened her inner muscles around him. He swore at the sensation and buried himself as deep as he could one final time. She watched him and sobbed with gratitude, relief and a love so great she didn't have room for it all.

She stretched herself out on top of him afterward, every bare inch of her meeting every bare inch of him. He held her tightly, neither of them willing to relinquish the sanctity of their bond renewed. They fell asleep as one and, in that way, they would move forward at last.


	17. Chapter 17

Come running to me  
When things get out of hand  
Running to me  
When it's more than you can stand

I said, "I'm strong, straight  
Willing to be a shelter in a storm"  
Your willow, oh willow  
When the sun is out

Sunday brought with it a mix of emotions. It was the final day of their honeymoon, and tomorrow Richard and Isobel would return to work. They looked forward to it inasmuch as they both loved their patients, the people of Downton village. Even so, their week off had been a time of tremendous development for them as a couple. The last time they had set foot inside the hospital they were yet to be wed, but now … Both felt as though they had done years' worth of growing one toward the other in the span of a few short days, and neither was keen to surrender the unity they had forged.

They lingered in bed that morning. One would doze while the other lay quietly watching. She found it irresistibly endearing that his moustache would twitch when he was dreaming, and she had to force herself to hold back a fit of the giggles for fear of waking him. He treasured the way she would reach in his direction each time either of them shifted position. As long as some part of her body remained in contact with some part of his, she slept soundly. They awoke and reached for one another, savoring the sound of their shared breathing and the feel of skin on skin beneath warm covers. Richard looked at Isobel, his eyes asking the silent question. She nodded in answer, a smile on her lips as they met his and she felt his hands begin to move on her body.

They were slightly late arriving at church.

They slipped into the back row as the opening hymn was being sung, and Isobel swatted Richard's arm playfully when she caught sight of him looking rather like the cat that ate the canary. If she were honest with herself, however, no small part of her thrilled at being the one to have put that expression on his handsome face.

Richard watched Isobel more than he paid attention to Reverend Travis. It was no slight against the man, but he found his wife's faith to be a far greater influence upon his own than any words spoken in a small country church by a vicar whose enthusiasm for his post was likely on the downhill slope at this point in his tenure.

Beside him, Isobel looked serene and content. He couldn't help but smile when he saw her peaceful expression, the way she closed her eyes and the corners of her mouth lifted as she recited the Apostles' Creed, the velvet smoothness of her alto as she sang the hymns. He watched her mouth move silently along with the reverend's during the gospel reading. For someone so given to whim and impulse, Isobel found stability in the underpinning of her faith in a way that surprised Richard. She'd explained to him that she felt her foundation gave her the freedom to be bold, and that made him love her all the more.

They parted company after the service, Isobel accompanying the Granthams to the Abbey while Richard went to the hospital. He needed to meet with the doctor who had covered for him during the honeymoon, so that he'd start the week with an understanding of what had transpired in his absence. Stephen Burcham had become a friend of Richard's in medical school and had been Chief of Surgery at the Royal Yorkshire Hospital for the past decade. While the two men did not see one another often - their respective posts, and Burcham's family (a wife, seven children, and so many grandchildren that Richard had lost count) keeping them busy - they never missed an opportunity to cover for one another when it was needed. Burcham had, in fact, been the doctor who covered for Richard after Matthew died, as he could not leave Isobel's side. He was trustworthy, efficient and had a managerial style very similar to Richard's own.

As Richard entered the hospital, he felt a sense of foreboding. He couldn't place it; perhaps it was simply apprehension at the thought of work shifting some of his focus off Isobel and their marriage. A couple of nurses stopped to greet him in the corridors, offering their congratulations and asking after Isobel. It warmed his heart that his staff were happy to see him and took the edge off his anxiety for a moment.

When he stepped into his office, he was met by a much younger man than Stephen Burcham seated behind his desk.

"I'm sorry, may I help you?" He hoped his voice was steady and didn't betray his bewilderment.

The young man behind the desk stood and, smiling, offered his hand. "Doctor Clarkson!" It was clear to Richard that the fellow knew him, and he wracked his memory until finally …

"Samuel? Samuel Burcham, is it you?" He took the other man's hand, shaking it firmly.

"It is indeed! I'm sure I look a bit different than I did the last time we saw one another."

"I should say! You couldn't have been more than … fifteen, is that right?"

"About that, yes," the young man agreed, and in his expression Richard could see that young boy he remembered.

"Your father said you had become a doctor. Do you practice in York as well?"

"I do. You remember my older brother James?" Richard nodded. "He and myself, along with two others, work under my father."

"And your father is …?" He didn't want to appear rude, but he still could not assimilate the presence of the young man before him when he'd been expecting his old friend.

The younger doctor suddenly realized why Doctor Clarkson seemed confused. "Ah. So Father didn't tell you, then?"

Richard shook his head and young Burcham explained.

"Father knew that you were getting married and that you and your bride - she's your head nurse, is that correct?" he asked and Richard nodded. "He knew you were going away on honeymoon. In fact," the young doctor laughed, his eyes twinkling, "I believe his words were, 'It's about time Clarkson figured out what's good for him.'"

Richard couldn't help but laugh. It sounded very much like his old friend indeed. "He's been after me to settle down since the day he met your mother!"

"That's Father for you! He was not about to intrude upon your time alone with the new Mrs. Clarkson! I don't know whether you will have read that a portion of Rowntree's collapsed, and there were over a dozen workers severely injured, mostly compound fractures but a few cases of pneumothorax and blunt kidney trauma as well."

Richard hung his head. "My, what a tragedy. So your father couldn't very well leave, could he?"

"He could not," young Burcham agreed. "Between himself, my brother and the two other surgeons they were able to manage the influx. I'm the most junior member of the team, and my interest lies more in the area of general practice. So Father asked me to come to Downton in his place and I couldn't turn it down, not when I had the opportunity to help an old friend of the family."

Richard couldn't help but be impressed at Burcham's enthusiasm and as the two men chatted, it became clear that the younger doctor had Downton Cottage Hospital well in hand. Supply inventories had been completed and orders for necessary items placed. Nurse Redfern, who served as charge nurse under Isobel, had kept the ledgers impeccably and had worked alongside Burcham to draft the nurses' schedule for the upcoming week. Thanks to her diligence, the patient charts were fully up-to-date. The doctor had even entertained the Dowager and Lady Grantham when they stopped by unannounced to check up on the state of operations in the Clarksons' absence.

It's as if we never left, Richard thought as Burcham briefed him. How remarkable it was, and what a relief, to return to work with a clean slate. But as he drove home, doubt began to nag at him. Suppose the Ladies Grantham preferred Burcham's and Redfern's masterful command of the hospital to his own and Isobel's? Suppose it was decided that the Clarksons were expendable? His fears about conflict between himself and the family and about his position therein rose to the surface once more. He and Isobel had only just found a place at which they could meet one another with regard to this issue. Would it rear its head again so soon?

Isobel had not yet returned from the Abbey when Richard arrived at home. He poured himself a glass of whisky and drank it down quickly, and he was about to pour a second when he remembered that he had intended to take Isobel to dinner at the Grantham Arms as a sort of last hurrah. Instead he set about looking for tasks to be done and soon found himself swinging an axe, chopping more firewood. By the time Tom brought her home he had split an impressive stack and brought half of it inside to fill the woodbox.

Isobel was in high spirits after the time she'd spent with George, happier still because she had also kept an eye on little Sybbie for a time while Tom and Robert had gone out to one of the cottages to meet with a tenant in regard to some emergency roof repairs. She chattered away about the details of her visit until she realized Richard was not giving her even the most cursory of responses. She turned to look at him and found him staring out the window with unseeing eyes.

It always unnerved her to see him like this and she wished that he would talk to her instead of brooding. But if she had learned anything about him of late it was that she could not encourage him to open up to her by badgering him or by nattering on until she wore him down. Instead she closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him from behind and pressing her cheek against his shoulder blade.

"I love you," she said in a gentle tone. "Shall we sit?"

He turned to face her and took her hands in his, then sat down on the sofa and pulled her into his lap. His eyes finally met hers and she could see a storm brewing in their blue depths even as he stroked her face, tucking a few wayward strands of her hair back into place.

She caught his chin in her hand and held his gaze, a look of concern upon her face. She fought against saying the words that were on the tip of her tongue: 'for mercy's sake would you talk to me?' Instead she pressed her lips to his in a gentle kiss, hoping to convey in so doing that she was there for him.

He returned her kiss and his arms came around her waist. When their lips parted he leaned his forehead against hers and she rubbed her thumb over the short hairs at the nape of his neck. A protracted silence stretched out between them but Isobel focused on the feel of him in her arms so that her own presence would remain a calming one.

At last he began to speak. "You'll be glad to know that all is well at the hospital."

He paused and she acknowledged him with a nod and an, "Indeed I am glad. But you don't appear to be as much."

He held her away from him just enough so that it was easier to converse. She held onto the lapels of his jacket loosely, knowing how her touch soothed him.

"You see I was rather taken aback to discover that it was not my old friend Stephen Burcham who has been at the helm in my absence, but his son instead." He went on to explain about the factory accident that had kept the elder Burcham detained, that he hadn't seen fit to disturb him and Isobel on their honeymoon and that the young Doctor Burcham and Nurse Redfern had taken the hospital well in hand.

Isobel listened compassionately, noting the furrowing of Richard's brow and the roll of his eyes. When the appropriate time came for her to speak, she led with words she knew would convey the fact that she was sympathetic to his position … even if she did not completely agree.

"I'm sure that it came as quite a shock to find that such a young doctor swept in and took control. I'll admit I'm a bit miffed at Redfern for having the audacity to conduct inventory and arrange the schedule without my approval." She smiled at him, a self-deprecating smile that lifted the corners of his own mouth when he saw it. He tapped her lips with his finger and she caught his hand in hers, kissing the back of it.

"Why do I sense there's a but coming?" he asked.

"You know me well," she said, pleading with her eyes for him to hear her out. She sighed. "We've spoken about your struggle to find where you fit into the Crawley family. I know that you don't yet feel inclined toward retirement and I understand … as well as I can. Only I wonder whether beginning to plan for that eventuality would be sensible on several fronts." She paused to gauge his reaction and noted only mild incredulity, so she continued.

"You intimated that if you were no longer employed by the family, it would be easier to see yourself as belonging, which you do now. And the unpredictability of your hours, the fact that you can go days without coming home … I simply wonder whether it will hold the same appeal now that we're married." Stop there, Isobel. You've just thrown down quite the gauntlet.

"I don't know, Isobel," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What you're proposing … it's life-altering. I can't argue with the sentiment, but … So very much is changing of late and it's rather overwhelming."

She smoothed her hands along his upper arms. "I know, darling. And there's no need to rush to a decision, one way or another. I'm simply saying that young Doctor Burcham's arrival may be a natural catalyst to our planning for the future."

He pulled her to him and she lay her head on his chest as they held one another and began to imagine their days to come. Isobel was silent except for one additional thought that occurred to her.

"It's rather wonderful to find ourselves dreaming once again, at our ages. Isn't it?!"

He certainly couldn't argue with that.


	18. Chapter 18

February 1922

One month had passed since Richard and Isobel's return to work. In some ways the familiarity of their routine was comforting. It was all Richard had known for four decades and he was good at it. There was great satisfaction in seeing the ill and infirm rise to strength again at the hand of his care. And for Isobel's part, while she kept her schedule to three full shifts per week and on-calls as needed (she was, after all, still in mourning, and now she had the responsibility of keeping a home as well), she was happy to be serving her community with the skill set she possessed.

But then there were the aspects of the job that weren't so gratifying ... the ones that, in fact, left a great deal to be desired. For instance, despite the fact that they shared an office - with desks perpendicular to one another - Richard and Isobel seldom occupied the space at the same time. He made rounds, kept appointments and performed surgical procedures. She spent most of her days moving from bed to bed on the ward and, at the close of her shifts when she finally sat down at her desk to complete her charts and to review those of the other nurses, he might pop in for a moment - long enough for a quick kiss and an, "I'll see you later, but don't hold dinner. There's no telling how long I'll be," before he headed out on after-hours calls.

To make matters worse, the two were rarely at home together and, when they were, they found themselves passing one another like ships in the night. Most evenings Richard came home so late that Isobel was at least in bed, if not already asleep. They were cross with one another because both felt the absence of the physicality that had become a cornerstone of their relationship. And Richard was just plain tired; physically run down from the long days and little sleep. Why was it suddenly catching up to him now, when it wasn't as if these aspects of his life were new?

Richard wasn't the only one surprised at his newfound distaste for the lifestyle that had suited him just fine for such a long time. Isobel found herself downright irritable. The grueling hours and separation were something she and Reginald had always dealt with, but somehow it had all seemed more tolerable at twenty, at thirty. She was widowed by the age of forty so she couldn't speak to how it felt then. Or perhaps she could. It felt lonely. And now she could feel the ghost of the old loneliness creeping back in again, and it didn't sit well with her at all. She hadn't waited nearly twenty years to find love with Richard only to discover herself apart from him as often now as before they were married. While it was true that she had plenty of things with which to occupy her time, she was developing a sharp new awareness of the fact that biding her time was the last thing she wanted to do, the last thing she ought to be doing.

Time. Who knew how much of it was left to her, to them? They were both in good health, and they weren't exactly old, but she had seen far too much of sudden, early loss to take her days - their days - for granted.

The shrill, incessant ringing of the alarm clock jolted Richard awake after a particularly restless night.

"Dammit!" he growled, turning it off and slamming it back down on the nightstand. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes. His outburst startled Isobel and she, too, sat straight up, eyes wide with confusion and fear.

"Richard?" She rubbed her eyes and grabbed his forearm. "Darling, what is it?"

He pulled her close, resting his head against hers. "I've had four hours of sleep in the last thirty-six. We're due in at eight and the board meeting is today, and I have it on good authority that the news isn't going to be favorable."

Isobel's brow furrowed and she wrapped her arms tightly around his midsection. Richard was sometimes given to letting his emotions out in sudden bursts, but usually it took far more than simply waking up to rile him to such an extent. The daily grind was having a deleterious effect on him, indeed.

She held him in silence while she contemplated what to say. They needed to revisit the subject of retirement, but this moment was not the one in which to broach it. What Richard needed now was his wife's gentle encouragement to get through the day, her confident example of how to put one foot in front of the other.

She looked at him after a moment. "Why don't you get dressed while I go downstairs and make us some coffee and breakfast?" She stood, but he caught her hand and pulled her back down.

"Isobel, you're a saint. I'm sorry to have awakened you so rudely." He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of lavender that he'd know anywhere as hers. "I love you, darling girl."

"Love you, too," she said with a smile, quickly kissing his lips. She gave him a playful swat and rose to stand once more. "Now, get on with you!" She fixed him with a knowing look as she walked away and he smiled appreciatively back at her.

Over breakfast Isobel did her best to assure Richard of her support and her confidence in him. "Redfern knows that I'm to attend the meeting with you, so she'll oversee activity on the ward. I'm meant to watch George afterward, but I'll stay if you need me to."

Richard shook his head and grinned despite his exhaustion. She was extraordinary, this woman, his wife. Surely if she, with all she had been through, could approach life with such resilience, he could manage it too. "No, my love, you need the break. I assume you've already submitted the fiscal year-end expense reports?" She nodded. "Then there's nothing more I can ask than for your calming presence there beside me during the meeting."

She squeezed his hand. "We'll get through today, darling. We'll get through today, and then soon we must talk. I sense we're both feeling that change is on the horizon."

"I'm more inclined to agree with you by the moment," he sighed, and she couldn't hide the wide-eyed look of shock that came over her face.

Oh, praise be, she thought. I may not be in for a fight after all.

They chose to walk to work that morning. They were ready with plenty of time to spare and Isobel knew that the exercise would serve to calm Richard's nerves. They spoke very little but each kept the other close, and for once the virtual silence didn't irk Isobel. She had as much on her mind as Richard did. It was warm enough to go without gloves, so they held hands, fingers entwined, until they were in sight of the hospital.

Before they were near enough to the building that anyone would be able to see them, Isobel squeezed Richard's hand and they halted momentarily.

"Nervous?" she whispered, smiling prettily at him.

"I'm alright. The sooner we get started, the sooner it'll be over with." He attempted to be stoic, but his true feelings were betrayed by the sigh he let go. Isobel chose not to press the issue and drew him down for a kiss.

"I'll be right beside you, come what may," she said, and she knew by the way his posture straightened and his shoulders squared that her words had achieved the desired effect.

The meeting went much as they had suspected it would, with choruses of, "Expenses are increasing," and, "We must cut costs without sacrificing the quality of care provided," from the Granthams. Richard and Isobel countered for a while ("Great pains have been taken to ensure we have spent as little as possible while still maintaining the quality of care that has been the hallmark of this hospital since its inception."), but soon they both found themselves losing the will to fight a battle they could not win; when it was announced that there would be a twenty percent reduction in the operating budget for the upcoming fiscal year, they shared a knowing look across the table.

They retreated to the quiet of their office when the meeting concluded. "We can afford to sit down for lunch," Richard said decisively, prompting a raised eyebrow from Isobel. "In fact, I would go so far as to say that we can't afford not to."

Isobel sat in stunned silence as Richard unpacked the lunch she had made for them. The news of budget cuts hit her particularly hard because it meant eliminating the positions of two of the nurses who worked for her. How in the world was she to make that determination, to ruin the livelihoods of two unsuspecting, hard-working, proficient young women? What was more, how could she do it when they were already short-staffed, the case load spreading them perilously thin? She felt caught in the middle … between Richard and her nursing staff, between her husband and her family. Was she the doctor's wife, the head nurse, or the cousin? She could not be all three without causing a rift in relationships that meant a great deal to her. She finally understood her husband's plight once and for all. And to think that he had felt this struggle every day of his life for years!

Richard watched as one pained expression after another passed across the beautiful face of his wife. It was altogether unlike her to silently agonize … In fact, the last time he had seen her do so had been in the hours immediately after Matthew had died. She was deeply troubled and he knew it was up to him to draw her out.

He reached across his desk to cover her hand with his own. "I suspect I know what's got you in such a state, my love. I knew the news would not be to our liking, but this is abysmal."

She nodded, fighting desperately to rein in tears since the staff could walk in at any moment. She swallowed hard. "I can't do it, Richard. I won't do it. There are five of us on the nursing staff. I can't sack Redfern - she manages far better than I these days. And the rest of them - Jenkins, Maycroft, Langrish - all young mothers dependent upon their earnings for the survival of their families. I'm through. I'll retire this instant before I allow my family to force my hand! They needn't pay my salary a moment longer. That should save the rest of the staff."

Richard's eyes went wide. Isobel was given to saying many things in fits of exuberance, but her steely gaze and the determined set of her jaw told him this wasn't merely a whim.

"I will support you if indeed that is your decision, but if you do leave I won't be far behind you. We need to properly discuss the situation and all that it entails together before we make a final determination, and that cannot happen here."

"There's no question in my mind, Richard. I choose you. I told you that and I meant it." There was that dead-set determination in her eyes once more.

"I only ask that we consider all the mitigating factors first so that our decision is well-informed," he replied and while the tone of his voice was stern, his eyes beheld her with tenderness.

They chatted about inanities while they ate, the conversation as companionable as could be expected under the circumstances. When it came time to part ways, Isobel's attempt at being strength for the both of them faltered momentarily. Richard had embraced her, and when he let go and pulled back to look at her face he caught her on the verge of tears.

"I'm sorry," she choked, bringing a hand to her sternum as if to push down the disquiet. "I, ah …" She cleared her throat and blinked several times as she tried to hold the tears at bay. "I find myself rather saddened by the prospect of letting you go, as I'm not at all certain how soon I'll see you again." She looked away from him and pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. "And I feel utterly ridiculous! Reggie and I managed this kind of schedule for twenty years … I don't understand why suddenly I can't handle it."

If the last month's grueling workload, his level of sheer physical exhaustion, and the devastating outcome of the board meeting hadn't been enough to tip Richard's hand, hearing his beloved, a woman of stronger constitution than any he had ever known, express such distress made the answer crystal clear.

"Isobel," he whispered, lingering on the last syllable. He brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek and wiped away the tears that spilled over. "I will be home just as soon as I am able, and you will sleep in my arms tonight, my beauty." He longed to say more and she sensed it, but he kept himself in check.

He caught her and kissed her as she was on her way out the door to go and visit George. "Give the wee chap a kiss from Granddad, will you?"

Isobel regarded her husband with shock for a moment before breaking into a wide smile. He always knew the right thing to say, and he could not have picked a more fitting moment to lay claim to George as his grandson, and not just hers.

"I'll do just that, my darling," she answered before placing a lingering kiss to his lips.

It was after eight when Richard finally walked out of the office, locking the door behind himself before leaning heavily against it. The day that had begun in discouragement had ended in despair. He looked skyward in disbelief before drawing great, deep breaths of the frigid night air.

Richard had just finished his evening rounds when two of the junior nurses ran frantically into his office. He was needed immediately, they said. On a bed in the triage area lay Roger Graeme, his longest-standing patient. Richard had delivered him when he was born and had cared for him all his life. Now he was forty years old with a wife and five young daughters. He was employed as a groom at the Abbey.

In a chair by the bed sat Graeme's wife, crying hysterically. Richard looked at Nurse Langrish, who nodded and sat down next to the woman, enfolding her in her arms. Nurse Jenkins began to brief Richard.

"Mrs. Graeme said he had just sat down to tea when he complained of shortness of breath. By the time she reached his side he had collapsed. The neighbor's son brought him in by car. He's unresponsive and tachycardic."

As Richard listened to Graeme's chest he knew the situation was dire. His pulse was thready and irregular. Acting quickly, he drew the curtain around the bed and called Langrish aside.

"Please take Mrs. Graeme into my office and fix her some tea. She mustn't be present for this."

When they were alone he and Jenkins began to administer supplemental oxygen and digitalis in an attempt to regulate Graeme's sinus rhythm. They kept at it until they had given the maximum safe dosage. Graeme never regained consciousness.

Richard shouted at him all the same.

"Come on, man! You must breathe! You're going to get up out of that bed and go home to your wife and daughters! You cannot die!"

But just before the clock had gone half six, Graeme's heart stopped. Richard and Nurse Jenkins had done everything in their power to save him. It wasn't a matter of being found in a backwater country hospital; there was nothing more that any doctor anywhere could have done. Even so, the knowledge did nothing to assuage Richard's feelings of guilt and remorse.

Richard had long ago lost count of the number of times he'd had to deliver news of a patient's passing to family members. This time, however, he found himself needing to sit and gather his wits first. There was nothing routine about the task this time.

As he walked home, Richard knew he had said the words. "I am so very sorry, Mrs. Graeme. We did everything that could be done for Roger, but he's gone." But he did not remember making his mouth actually form them. He recalled through a haze Mrs. Graeme fainting, and believed that he'd helped Nurse Redfern revive her. Indeed, he had lost many patients over the course of his career. But losing this patient was the last straw.

It's a five o'clock world when the whistle blows  
No one owns a piece of my time  
There's a long-haired girl who waits, I know  
To ease my troubled mind

\- Hal Ketchum, "Five O'clock World"

Soon he was walking through the front door of the cottage, but he was not at all sure how he had gotten there. He was effectively numb, mentally (if not physically) in shock. He heard the sound of the piano playing before he had the chance to wonder where Isobel was, and somehow his legs managed to carry him to the sitting room. She was seated with her back to him, and by her upturned face he knew her eyes were closed as she sang softly along with the song she played. She was soothing herself, he knew, after her dreadful morning. He allowed himself to get lost in the music as well, and when she finished the piece he approached her, placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder so as not to startle her.

"Isobel."

She must have heard it - the numbness, desperation, shock - in his voice for she rose, turned toward her husband and engulfed him in her arms in one movement. She kissed him hungrily, agony evident in both of them as their lips met. She cupped his chin in her hand and as the kiss broke she studied his features. He is exhausted, she thought, and upon further investigation, he is broken.

"I love you, Richard." She whispered it in his ear; felt he needed to receive it that way - intimately and directly - in that moment.

She held him out away from her to take in his appearance and gently but decisively slipped her hand into his, leading him up the stairs to their bedroom. He watched as she turned down the bed, then approached him and undressed him with great care down to his undershorts. He watched with fascination as she unbuttoned her blouse and let her skirt pool at her feet until she remained in only her knickers and a soft satin camisole. She smiled warmly at him as she watched his eyes take in the sight of her.

"Lie down," she urged, yet again managing to be gentle and assertive at the same time.

He did, and instantly she was there, her head resting on his shoulder as her arms wrapped around him and she insinuated a leg between both of his. She stroked his brow tenderly, willing the furrow smooth.

"When you're ready to tell me, I'm right here," she whispered. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm before placing it over his heart. He breathed in the lavender scent of her hair, the salty sweetness of her skin. She kept at bay the nerves brought on by his silence through touch, keeping one hand moving on him as she alternately stroked his chest and carded her fingers through his hair.

At last he cleared his throat, his voice breaking as he uttered the words, "Roger Graeme died this evening. Massive heart attack. He was in full sinus tachycardia when he was brought in. Jenkins and I gave supplemental oxygen, administered digitalis and performed carotid massage. It was all that could be done, but it wasn't enough. He was forty years old. Leaves behind a wife and five daughters, all under ten." He closed his eyes, shaking his head as though if done properly he could shake away the day's events. "He was the first baby I delivered when I arrived at Downton, Isobel. And he's dead."

"Oh, my love," she said softly, tightening her hold on him. "And today, of all days for it to happen. No wonder you're so broken. Oh, darling …" She kissed his chest, right over his heart, and the gesture - and the timing thereof - caused him to choke back a sob. "How can I help?"

He looked at her and the compassion he saw in the rich depths of her eyes took his breath away. He reached up to trace the contour of her cheekbone with his thumb. "Talk to me, Isobel. Strange as it may sound to hear me say it, I need to hear your voice right now."

She had been changing lately, growing toward him and learning that if she wanted to communicate love and support to him it often meant a quieter, more thoughtful approach than that to which she was accustomed. But he had loved her for such a long time now, and part of what he loved was the way she spoke her mind, the way he seldom had to wonder what she thought. He needed that now, the comfort and familiarity found in Isobel's words.

She pulled the covers over them snugly and tucked herself tightly against him, her palm resting over his heart. "Richard, you did everything you could to save Roger Graeme. You did everything right, love. There is not a thing you could have done to change the outcome for him. Do you know what you did for him? You welcomed him into this world. Yours were the first eyes into which his ever looked. And such kind eyes they are! And those same kind, sympathetic eyes looked upon him as he breathed his last. He may not have been conscious, but I'm certain he could feel your presence there with him and that it brought him great comfort." She paused and noted the way she could feel his heart beating beneath her fingertips. It was not lost on her that across town a newly-widowed wife would be spending her first night without feeling the same and her eyes filled with tears, for she knew that pain intimately.

She pushed on, determined to soothe her husband. "That's what you do so well, my love. You're the calm after the storm. You have great inner strength, and you impart it to others when they need it most. I'm proud of you, Richard. So very proud of the career you've had; the lives you've brought forth and seen through to their final moments, the battle-weary young men to whom you've given refuge. And even more than that, I'm proud of the man you are; that quiet, steadfast strength that defines you. It never changes, and it grounds me. It's you who have kept me sane since I lost my son. It's your values that keep me from going off half-cocked when I'm caught up in a whim. I love the life you've built for yourself and for us, and I cannot wait to share the rest of my days with you." She was rambling, but the more she spoke the calmer he became. She went on in this manner, whispering all about her love for him and his worth in her eyes until she felt the tension in his body dissolve.

When she lifted her head to look at him she was gratified to find a smile upon his lips. She reached out to touch it with her fingertips and smiled a smile of her own just before her lips brushed his. She had gone where no other could go, reaching into the depths of his anguish and pulling him back from the precipice as he'd so often done for her. She had found him and brought him home.

March 1922

So make the best of this test, and don't ask why  
It's not a question but a lesson learned in time

It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right  
I hope you had the time of your life

-Green Day, "Good Riddance"

The outcome of the board meeting and the death of Roger Graeme brought about a series of discussions that Richard and Isobel had needed to have at least since the wedding, if not from the outset of their relationship. Richard had alluded to the fact that he had laid aside the majority of his earnings, having been single for the entirety of his career before they were wed. What he hadn't seen fit to discuss on their wedding day was the fact that he also had a sizable military pension from his years in the service, and that he owned the cottage and the land upon which it sat outright. Combined with the inheritance that had been left to Isobel by Reginald and the trust fund set aside in her name by Matthew from his earnings as a solicitor, the fact was that the two never need work another day in their lives. Armed with this knowledge, they began to set in motion a plan for their retirement.

True to her word, Isobel had tendered her resignation after the board meeting, citing her refusal to jeopardize the means of support for the three youngest nurses on her staff and giving a glowing recommendation of Nurse Redfern to succeed her as head nurse. The nursing staff would have to get by as a team of four for a while, but they were bright, young, and capable, and Isobel had no doubt that they would find their way.

Richard had gone into York on a day off to meet with his old friend, Doctor Stephen Burcham, and his new one, young Doctor Samuel Burcham. He announced his intention to retire, explaining to the very sympathetic elder Burcham that he had spent forty years married to his job and that now that he'd found Isobel, she was the only one worthy of that kind of time and attention. He asked - and received - his friend's blessing to recommend young Samuel to assume leadership of Downton Cottage Hospital.

Richard and Isobel met with the rest of the board - Lord and Lady Grantham and the Dowager Countess - to formally announce their intentions. Despite Isobel's inclination to go in with all guns blazing and call the family out for putting the couple between a rock and a hard place, she and Richard took the high road, explaining that while the both of them had intended to continue on indefinitely in their tenure at the hospital, marriage had shifted their focus in a way they could not have foreseen. It helped their cause that Isobel had already transferred all of her responsibilities over to Nurse Redfern, who was managing splendidly. Richard's recommendation of Samuel Burcham was well received, as Violet and Cora had been most impressed with the confident leadership he'd demonstrated when he covered for Richard during the honeymoon. Richard offered to stay on in a steadily decreasing capacity until the transition was complete.

This meeting was a success; both parties came away from it with a sense of respect from the other for their position, and the Clarksons felt appreciated by their employers for their (particularly Richard's) years of faithful service to the village. What Richard and Isobel had not been expecting was to be given the blessing of Robert, Cora and Violet as family. But then again, Cora would not have been Cora if she hadn't insisted upon hosting a retirement celebration for the pair at the Abbey.

Isobel glanced in Richard's direction when Cora made her proclamation. She was not much given to being the center of attention, not even with her gregarious nature, so she felt quite certain that the prospect of a party in their honor would greatly unnerve him. Instead, however, she found relief - and possibly even amusement - in his eyes when they met hers.

When the meeting dissolved, Cora took Isobel aside to begin planning the party and Violet halted Richard. She asked him into the small library and called for tea.

"I've asked you to join me not in a formal or professional capacity, but as a member of the Crawley family and a friend, Doctor Clarkson … Richard," the Dowager said. At the use of his first name she bristled and he could not help but let go a laugh, and was as surprised as anything when she laughed as well.

"It's quite all right, Lady Grantham … and if you won't be put out I think you will remain Lady Grantham to me for the time being, family or no family. It's a bit much to expect those of us who love tradition to give it up at the drop of a hat."

Violet gave him a grateful smile. "Oh, thank heaven, I do appear to have found a kindred spirit in that regard!" They shared a laugh again before she continued. "I'll thank you not to share this with your wife, but she is my dearest friend. One day, I will remain no more, and until the two of you found love she was all alone. It's about time that you and she set aside all else and devote yourselves fully to one another. I thank you sincerely for your commitment to this village, but it is now the time to commit yourself to making a life with Isobel. You've a lifetime of memories to make together, and I speak from experience when I say that you'll never regret doing just that."

"Lady Grantham," he answered, "nothing will give me greater pleasure. It warms my heart to know that we have your blessing upon our retirement, and that I can be counted among your friends and you among mine."

"Family, Doctor Clarkson," she amended seriously, though both of them smiled at the slip back into the use of his title. It was so very like the both of them. "We are family."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's curtains for this fic. This chapter finally concludes the flashback portion of our story ... by revisiting a key scene from Chapter 1. Richard and Isobel are moving forward together.

These are the days by the sparkling river  
His timely grace and our treasured find  
This is the love of the one magician  
Turned the water into wine

These are the days of the endless dancing and the  
Long walks on the summer night  
These are the days of the true romancing  
When I'm holding you oh, so tight

These are the days now that we must savour  
And we must enjoy as we can  
These are the days that will last forever  
You've got to hold them in your heart

-Van Morrison, "These Are the Days"

July 1922

By the time midsummer came, Richard and Isobel were well on their way to retirement. She rarely looked in on the nursing staff now as Nurse Redfern had taken to the position of head nurse with skill and professionalism. He still spent a couple of full days a week at the hospital, but it was more at the behest of young Doctor Samuel Burcham than due to any misgivings on his part. It was clear as day that Burcham was the right man for the job, the one to carry Downton Cottage Hospital into the future. He was eloquent and had a gentle, reassuring bedside manner. He was also calm under pressure, taking busy waiting rooms and full triage beds in stride. And he was unfazed by the long hours, taking to days that began well before sunrise and ended long after dark with exuberance.

Change had come to the home front as well. One of the first decisions the couple had made after Richard tendered his resignation was to dismantle the office he had kept at the cottage and turn it back into a bedroom as it was originally intended; specifically, as a nursery for George and for little Sybbie. Isobel had begun to keep the little girl a few half-days a week while Tom tended to matters concerning the running of the estate.

For Isobel, this had meant a journey back to her house in Manchester. Matthew's furniture was still there - the crib in which he was laid as an infant and the small bed in which he slept as a child - and seeing as she'd need both items in order to properly furnish the nursery, she decided they were put to better use by her grandchildren than they would be sitting in storage.

The purpose of the visit was severalfold. Not only was she to retrieve the furniture, but she had made the determination, in light of the wave of change that had swept through her life, to sell the Manchester house. After moving to Downton she had kept it for Matthew, for posterity. But now she had no reason to hold on to it any longer. Her life, her home, her heart, and the memories of her son were in Downton. She would let the house go to auction … no sense messing about with a private sale when the proceeds were not needed in order to support her lifestyle. Before returning home, she would visit the cemetery where Reginald was buried. She had not been since Matthew's death and, though she carried her first great love in her heart no matter where she was, somehow it seemed necessary to sit with him now, to be as physically near as possible and to talk with him about the loss of their son and the miracle of the second chance she had found at love.

Isobel made the trip alone. Her mission was to say goodbye to her past, the life and love that had found her early and had indelibly left their mark upon her character, so that she could move forward in boldness, embracing without reservation her serendipitous present and the promise of a bright future. And that was something she needed to do on her own.

Robert had offered to have his driver take Isobel to Manchester and bring her home and she'd accepted with gratitude. As she alighted from the car and looked upon the house from the street her stomach fluttered with nerves. She unlocked the door and stepped into the foyer. The house was pristine - she had paid to have it kept and cleaned in her absence - and mostly empty now, merely a shell of what it had been. The furnishings that hadn't moved with her to Downton had already been donated to charity except for Matthew's things, which were in the attic.

Despite the emptiness of the space, Isobel could look into any corner, or out any window, and call up a memory. There was the corridor where Matthew had taken his first toddling steps into her waiting arms, the banister down which he had slid every day (despite his parents' admonition) until the day he toppled off and broke his wrist, and the kitchen in which Isobel had prepared the family's meals while Matthew sat at the table, reciting Latin grammar and solving quadratic equations.

She ascended the stairs to the second floor. Here was the bedroom window in front of which had sat Isobel and Reginald's bed. She trailed her hand along the windowsill, closing her eyes as she recalled two decades' worth of precious, intimate memories made in this very room with her first love. It was here that Matthew was born, delivered by his father and placed upon Isobel's chest, as both husband and wife held their breaths and waited for their son to take his first. Outside the window was the yard in which Reginald and Matthew, along with his school chums, played rugby at the weekends.

Isobel climbed the stairs to the attic, thinking of rainy afternoons spent with five-year-old Matthew as they listened to the echo of their voices in this stairwell. She located his furniture just as the movers arrived. As they loaded the items into their lorry, she had one final look around and found herself longing to return to Downton, to her new love.

This was my house, but Richard is my home.

As she got into the car, Isobel took one last look back. This leg of the journey had not brought to the surface the sorrow she had expected. Perhaps this was owed to the fact that she had lived there for so very long after Reginald's passing but had left long before losing Matthew.

Goodbye, beautiful house, she thought. You bore witness to the very best of my past. May your walls contain just as much joy in the years to come.

When some time has passed us and the story can be told  
It will mirror the strength and the courage of your soul  
Oh, oh, I believe, I believe that it's gonna be alright  
It's gonna be alright

-Sara Groves, "It's Going to be Alright"

The cemetery proved to be a greater test of her mettle. The driver left her at the gate and as she made her way to Reginald's grave she counted her steps as a means of keeping her composure. She sat down in front of the gravestone, running her fingertips over the inscription: 'Reginald Arthur Crawley, Born 3rd June 1857, Died 7th August 1902.'

"Oh, Reggie, my darling," she whispered as tears began to fall. She cleared her throat and took a steadying breath. "I'm so very sorry that Matthew made it home before I did. He was our world, wasn't he? It comforts me to know that he is with you now." Images of father and son rushed to her mind unbidden and Isobel watched them play before her eyes.

"I found love again," she said as a laugh welled up from deep within her soul. "Richard ... He … He saved my life when Matthew died. Did you send him to me? It almost feels as though you did! We were friends for so many years and then … I lost everything, Reggie. All that was left of you. And Richard brought me back. He reminded me of who I am. I love him, darling. I love him … because you taught me how to love. And it's so sweet the second time around." She turned her face to the sky, watching as a flock of birds swooped and rose, changing directions.

"So much of what made me the woman I am today, I owe to you. I know it was no easy task, loving me, and you did it so very well. I can love again because I carry you with me. I always will, darling. Always." Isobel brought her fingertips to her lips and kissed them, pressing them against the letters that formed Reginald's name.

"I love you," she concluded with a smile. "Take care of our son."

As she walked back to the car, the tears she shed were those of joy, of release. She had turned a corner today. It felt as though she had gained strength and courage by mourning Matthew's death in Reginald's presence. And although she could not quantify it, she knew that she had the blessing of her first great love to move forward into the fullness of life with the man who had come to hold her heart for all her days present and future.

I was running races, places  
No one ever stopped to tell you why  
I didn't know that I could, I would  
Find a way to put that all aside  
And get more of this

Sweet, sweet simple life and  
Spending all my time  
With you and me and family around  
Get more of this  
Sweet, sweet way of living  
Didn't know what I was missing  
Taking all for granted until now  
Baby, slow me down

~The Willis Clan, "Slow Me Down"

It was approaching midnight when Richard arrived home, exhausted. First there had been an accident at one of the farms. A team of young farmhands had been plowing the fields for the planting of the fallow crop of winter wheat. The rear axle on one of the tractors had broken, causing injury to several young farmhands. The driver had sustained a concussion and a broken arm, one plowman a broken leg and another a dislocated shoulder. Then an expectant mother had called for him with what she believed to be labor pains but, alas, it was a false alarm.

He had originally planned to meet Isobel for dinner at the Abbey after she returned from her afternoon at the women's center in York. But when he knew he would be detained he sent word to her, knowing she would want to help and insisting she stay put. The gloom at the big house was just beginning to lift following Matthew's death. The relationship between Isobel and Mary had become very close since the older woman's retirement, and she and baby George, who was now ten months old, were positively smitten with one another. Richard would not deprive her of a moment she could spend with their grandson. She knew this without his saying so and loved him for it.

For her part that evening, Isobel had endured with grace the vitriol spewed at her by Violet and Robert over her choosing to return to working with women of ill repute. They insisted she was calling down scandal upon the entire Crawley family. Never mind that it was one afternoon a week and that she had the full support of her husband. Isobel had not quite recovered the strength, since the loss of her son, to return fire in the way she had been long accustomed. Mary had seen the weary look in the eyes of her mother-in-law and had compassion for her. Accordingly, Isobel had spent the remainder of the evening in the nursery with Mary and George.

She was well and truly exhausted when she arrived home and, after thanking Edith for the ride and bidding her good night, Isobel fixed herself a cup of tea and prepared for bed. She lit a fire in the bedroom fireplace, for despite the warmth of the day there was quite a chill come nightfall. Stripping bare, she slipped into the negligée gifted to her by Cora on her wedding day. There was a dressing gown that matched the nightgown but she chose to forego it, crossing the room to Richard's side of the bed and retrieving his from the nearby armchair instead. It held his scent, a heady combination of woodsmoke and his aftershave and something that she couldn't quite name, but that was so distinctly him. But it was not merely the fact that the garment smelled like him, it was like him, masculine yet soft and warm. As Isobel wrapped it around herself she imagined it was his arms around her and smiled. Tonight was the last time they would spend an evening apart like this. Just a few more hours and he would be home for good.

Her intention had been to wait up for her husband, but ten o'clock came and went with no sign of him and she couldn't will her eyes to stay open any longer. Finishing her tea, she penned a quick note to him and left it on the kitchen table.

R,  
Wake me when you get home. I've missed you tonight. Forgive me my fatigue ... at least I've warmed up the bed for you.  
Yours,  
Bel

Returning to the bedroom, Isobel couldn't help but grin when she spotted MacTavish, their beagle pup, sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed with a look of longing on his face, his tail wagging. Her resolve was no match for his sad eyes and she gave in. "Oh, all right. Come on then," she said as she bent to pick him up. He wiggled excitedly in her arms and licked her face.

"I know, it's quite exciting," she said with an amused smile. "Yes, you settle in with Mum now. But when your daddy gets home, you're going back to your own bed." Her actions betrayed her true feelings as she dropped a kiss on his head. The dog had been her birthday gift to Richard after he had told her fondly of the beagle pups he and his parents used to raise. It hadn't taken long for her to be won over by the irresistible eyes, the ears and paws outsized for the rest of his little body, and the way that every time she sat down he was instantly in her lap; before she knew what had happened, his dog had become theirs.

Turning back the covers, Isobel draped Richard's dressing gown over the bedpost and climbed into bed, MacTavish curling up next to her. Embracing Richard's pillow, she buried her face in it. Being surrounded by his scent was not as gratifying as being enfolded in his arms, but it was enough to soothe her into a dreamless sleep.

That was how Richard found her, arms wrapped around his pillow, honey-colored curls spilling across hers. One shoulder was partially uncovered and he regarded the light blue strap of her gown with a smile. Wake me when you get home, she'd written. At least I've warmed up the bed for you.

Warm was exactly how she looked to him. And enticing. And his. He still could scarcely believe it.

They were married six months now, and in that short period they had made the transition from longtime friends to lovers; they had renovated his house, making it theirs. They had learned that marriage hardly called an end to the epic disagreements that had colored their past and they'd been faced with the choice between allowing contention to drive a wedge between them or moving beyond their differences to forge a deeper unity … and had come out on the winning end. At the outset they had determined to continue on in their positions of leadership at Downton Cottage Hospital, but they soon discovered that the only cause to which either desired to devote themselves with that kind of fervor any longer was their marriage.

He had just finished his final shift as a physician in the village of Downton. The hospital to which he'd given the last four decades of his life, and she the last ten years, had successfully been turned over to the next generation. Instead of feeling uncertain of his choice or reluctant to leave, Richard felt elated, perhaps even triumphant.

Now our life together begins in earnest, he thought as he took in the sight of his beautiful, sleeping bride, the woman who had changed the course of his life.

He knelt carefully on the bed, taking care not to disturb MacTavish. He kissed Isobel's cheek, her forehead. "Hello, my love," he said gently. "I'm home."

She whimpered softly in her sleep, her brow furrowing when she registered the intrusion. He smiled. How he loved to watch as one expression after another flitted across her face. He kissed her mouth, smiling against her lips when she responded.

She opened her eyes to look directly into the piercing blue of his. "Richard! When did you get here?" she asked, her voice heavy with sleep. She reached for his hands and pulled him in for a proper kiss.

"Just now, my darling. This is it, Isobel. I'm finished!"

She beamed, thinking she hadn't seen him look so pleased in all the years she'd known him. "I'd ask how you felt about that, but the answer is written all over your face! I am so happy for you, Richard. Congratulations, my love!"

"It's all thanks to you, Bel. Will you do something with me?"

She fixed him with a curious look. "Oh, there's definitely something I intend to do with you," she teased. He winked at her and drew her close enough to kiss once more.

"We've all night for that, my beauty." His eyes twinkled and she raised an eyebrow at him. My, but he was in rare form! "Come with me, Isobel?"

"Come with you?! Darling, I'm hardly properly dressed!"

"No matter," he said. "By the looks of it you were wearing my dressing gown earlier. Put it back on and come with me. I've something to show you."

She shook her head, incredulous at his behavior, and laughed. "All right, all right, I'm coming! Let's take the wee one; if he goes out now we can lie in in the morning."

Now it was his turn to laugh. His dog had become the wee one.

"I see we're allowing the wee one to sleep in our bed now, aye?" It was something she'd said she would never permit.

"Just you hush, Doctor!" She returned his banter and got out of bed, donning his dressing gown.

He picked up MacTavish and carried him down the stairs. Isobel followed him out onto the patio, where he had poured two glasses of wine and brought a candle from the kitchen to light their way. He put MacTavish down in the grass and beckoned Isobel to sit down on the stone bench. He brought along their wine glasses and handed one to her as he sat beside her. They held each other as they observed the luminescent glow of the moonlight upon the white roses - the very ones Isobel had insisted Violet allow her to transplant from the gardens at the Dower House. The chirping of crickets and the churring call of nightjars resounded like a symphony in the darkness and the fragrance of mock orange combined with woodsmoke to create an aroma that Isobel would ever after identify as summertime with Richard.

It was a beautiful night, the moon full, stars shining brightly. She stole a glance at him and caught him watching her.

"What?!" she grinned.

"You're exquisite in the moonlight, under the stars," he said, his voice husky. "Merely appreciating the beauty of creation." He shrugged cheekily and she stood, trailing a hand behind herself to indicate he should follow. She leaned against the stone wall and turned her face skyward.

"Have I told you my favorite part of living here, in this house?" she asked. "Besides you, I mean."

"I don't believe you have," came his soft reply as he stood just behind her and off to the side. He wrapped an arm around her waist. She could feel his warm breath on her neck and she sighed with contentment, desire beginning to stir low in her belly.

"It's the stars, Richard. We're far enough away from the village that there are no lights to obscure our view. My, but there are so many of them, aren't there?!"

He smiled in satisfaction. He had known she'd be enthralled by the night sky, and what better night than this to share it with her. "Aye, there are indeed. God's sweet lanterns." He kissed the side of her neck, the sensitive skin behind her ear. She leaned into him.

"That's lovely, Richard. Who is it … Burns? Yeats?" They read both together often, but she couldn't place the sentiment.

"Clarkson," he answered quietly.

She turned to face him, nonplussed. "Truly?" she asked, and he nodded. "The poets should have come to you, love." She knew that she'd embarrass him if she said much more, so she wrapped her arms around his waist and let him hold her as together they surveyed the vastness of the night sky.

"We'll have so many nights like this now, Isobel. Opportunities to enjoy things we've long taken for granted. I can't remember the last time it occurred to me to look at the stars."

She hummed in agreement and rested her forehead against his. "You'd have been working, called into emergency surgery or attending a birth. And if not then you'd be desperately trying to catch a few good hours of sleep before you had to wake up and do it all again. I did the same for many years and you're right, it never even crossed my mind that I was missing out on moments like this." Her arms went around his neck and his hands spanned her waist. "I don't think I've ever seen you this happy, Richard. This was unequivocally the right decision for us, for our future." She raised up on tiptoe and whispered the next words, the ones that meant more to him than any others, into his ear.

"I'm so very proud of you, my love." She kissed him there, a feather-light brush of lips against the place where his ear met the line of his jaw. One of his hands came up to cradle her face while the other slid to her hip, his thumb tracing circles there. Each held the other's gaze until his lips touched hers, and he moaned as her lips parted for him.

When the kiss broke they stood smiling at one another. Isobel reached up to trace the shape of his lips with her fingertips and he kissed each one in turn.

"You," Richard said raptly, kissing the tip of her nose. "You are everything that was lacking in my life, Isobel. I lived a lifetime surrounded by eminence and grandeur and show, always on the outside; never belonging anywhere. And then you swept in like a torrent and challenged my every notion. There is nothing I'd rather do than to spend the rest of my days loving you, and I'm finally free to do exactly that."

Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him. "And there's no better time to begin than now." She kissed him this time, a series of playful nips at his bottom lip that had them both longing for more.

"Take me to bed, Richard," Isobel panted. "We've so very much to celebrate and I can think of no better way."

He had never seen her smile so much or so brightly. She was healing, the dark days behind them both now. Even their most difficult moments had drawn them closer to one another, and with a firm foundation beneath their feet and a future as limitless as their dreams, why wouldn't they be joyful?

He leaned in unexpectedly, stealing one more kiss … and her breath. She laughed at being caught unawares and it rang through the night, music to his ears. She was glorious.

"Oh, but you are beautiful," he sighed happily, tracing the contour of her cheekbone with his thumb.

He whistled for MacTavish, who bounded through the grass, nearly tripping over his ears as he made his way to them. The pair laughed and Isobel scooped the pup into her arms as they went inside. He settled into his bed and was asleep in mere moments.

Isobel stood by the fire, her back to Richard as she warmed her chilled fingers. He stepped up behind her and slipped his hands beneath the fabric of the dressing gown at her shoulders. She pulled her arms out of the garment and he glided his palms down over her collarbones, her sternum, coming to rest on her breasts. She moaned and as he pulled her back against his chest he felt her nipples stiffen. He rolled them between his fingers and she writhed against him.

"I love the way you feel in my arms, Isobel; the way you respond to my touch. Is this what you want, my beauty?" he whispered.

"Yes, Richard," she breathed, tilting her head to the side to give him access to the soft skin of the back of her neck. His lips and teeth explored the salty-sweet taste of her as he massaged her nipples and she reached behind them to hold his hips, grinding softly against his arousal.

A strangled groan escaped his lips at the feel of her beautiful bottom pressed against him and he rolled his hips into her.

"We need to lie down," came her breathy whisper and she turned in his arms. She watched his eyes darken as his gaze fell upon her breasts, barely concealed beneath the diaphanous silk gauze of her negligée.

"Oh, the way you look at me," she said, smiling in a way that reflected the fullness of joy held within her heart.

"You are altogether lovely, my Bel." He brought a hand up to brush back the hair at her temples and followed his touch with the brush of his lips. "Beautiful mind."

He trailed the tips of his fingers down over her cheek, the line of her jaw, her long, slender neck and strong, delicate shoulders. He kissed the hollow at the base of her throat, moving downward until he could feel her heartbeat beneath his lips. His arousal surged as he felt her life force, warm and vital and real. "Beautiful heart," he rasped.

He knelt on the floor in front of her and untied the robe where it still hung at her waist.

It fell to the floor, leaving her in the filmy gossamer gown, the flickering firelight casting its amber glow upon her skin. He tugged on her hands and she came to kneel facing him. He lifted the hem of the gown, his fingertips tingling as they came in contact with the flesh of her back, her bottom, her abdomen and ribs. Her arms came around his neck, pressing her breasts against his chest. He closed his eyes at the feel of her. "Beautiful body," he whispered, and she felt it as his lips ghosted over the tender skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

Gooseflesh rose where his breath met her skin and she cupped his chin in her hand, making him meet her eyes. "How does this happen every time?" She giggled at the disparity in their states of undress. "Here I am nearly in the altogether while you're still fully clothed. Come here." She took his hand and unfastened the buttons at his cuff, turning his wrist over and pressing her lips to the pulse point. She repeated the action on the other wrist, her eyes holding his in a heated gaze as her lips met his skin.

She then brought her hands to his collar, and as she undid the top two buttons she bowed her head to suck at the skin she exposed. He closed his eyes and she watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. She nipped him there with the sharp edges of her teeth and he growled, pulling her hips flush against his.

Another button, then two, and she flattened her palms against his chest, scratching her fingernails across his nipples.

"Isobel," he gasped, his hands grasping her bottom roughly.

"Good?" she asked, stealing a heated kiss.

"Yesss," he hissed, and she smoothed her hands over his shoulders as she bent to take one of his nipples between her teeth. He swore softly and she laughed, repeating her actions on the other one. His trousers were becoming painfully tight and he loosened his belt and undid the fastenings as she rid him of his shirt. He had to stand in order to step out of his trousers, shorts and socks, and before he could bring himself back to a kneeling position he felt her hand engulf the length of him.

"May I do this for you, Richard? Is this what you want?" She looked up at him as she stroked him with one hand and traced the sensitive skin of his inner thighs with the other, her eyes dark with desire and filled with such love and admiration that it made his heart ache in the most pleasant of ways.

"Touch me, Bel," he panted, his control stretched thin. When he felt her mouth wrap around him, her tongue swirling around the tip, he clutched at her shoulders. She was gratified when she heard him begin to murmur senselessly, mostly in Gaelic, most of which she understood … Most of which he would never dream of saying to her outside of the heat of the moment. She treasured the fact that she knew him this way, got to witness him in these moments; the way he relinquished his well-crafted control to her. No one but she knew this side of him: fiery, passionate, hers.

"Isobel, sweetheart." He breathed heavily, smoothing his fingertips across her forehead, and she released him from her mouth, continuing to hold him in her warm palm. "Come here."

He brought her to stand, wrapping his arms around her waist. She saw the earnest look in his eyes and knew he was about to share something that made him feel vulnerable. She loved him the most in these moments; she was overcome with gratitude at being the one he trusted implicitly.

"I want to be inside you," he breathed against her ear, speaking just above a whisper. She realized he hadn't often been the one to ask for this; he usually deferred to her, or was happy to let her set the pace when they made love.

Not only did it make her heart sing, hearing him make this most intimate of confessions, but it aroused her greatly, and she ached for him to join with her.

"Yes, Richard," she gasped, taking his lips roughly. She reached behind them to grab a couple of throw pillows off the settee at the foot of the bed. He lay on his back and she on her stomach on the soft sheepskin rug, propping herself up on her elbows to look at him. Words would have embarrassed him, he who kept his emotions so closely guarded, so she told him with her eyes all that she could not say.

Thank you for trusting me enough to ask for what you need. It takes a mighty man to admit his vulnerability. Let me love you, my darling.

With her lips she asked him how she could please him. "Shall I … like this?" She straddled his hips, the tip of him brushing against her entrance. He could feel how slick she was and he twitched against her, making her moan in anticipation.

"Yes," he said huskily. "Please." He reached between them, his fingers slipping against her, tracing soft circles over her moist heat as he reached to guide himself into her. They looked into one another's eyes, hers going wide as she took his length within her.

She ground her hips into his when she had taken all of him, and he pulled her against his chest. She could feel his full length, the pulse of him within her, and she rolled her pelvis into him. They both loved to savor the moment of their joining, to prolong it for as long as possible.

She felt like saying it all to him, all of the unfettered, unfiltered words that meant she loved this, wanted him, lived for moments like these.

"Oh, Richard, I can feel all of you like this … just there … so good!" She continued to murmur to him, some of it senseless and all of it lovely to his ears as he smoothed his hands over her bare back, mapping her vertebrae. Her nipples were hard where they pressed against his chest and it wasn't long before he couldn't bear to keep still.

"Isobel … move for me, lover," he rumbled, and she lifted her head from his chest to nip at his lips in response to his words. She leaned back, resting her hands behind herself on his thighs as she rocked her hips back and forth. He couldn't stop touching her, filling his palms with the sweet, warm weight of her breasts as she moved over him. She leaned forward to kiss him and he hissed at the shift in position, tilting his hips up into her.

"I want to feel you all around me," she said breathily, moving off him to lie on her side with him behind her. He lifted her leg to rest on top of his, opening her to him and his fingers slipped down to brush against the bundle of nerves that made her cry out in pleasure, and as he slipped inside her warmth again she pushed back against him, taking him in fully. He continued to touch her, fingers sliding against her folds and then tracing up over the softness of her abdomen, ghosting across her ribs and coming to rest on her breast, kneading the peak. He felt himself brush against a ridge inside of her that made them both gasp and he set up a rhythm of strokes that caused him to hit that spot over and over and then she stilled, stopped murmuring, stopped breathing.

"Richard!" she exclaimed in a half-whisper as she came, halting the movement of his fingers with her own. She kept his hand pressed against her and they rode out her release that way, prolonging it with his steady touch.

"Oh, my love," she gasped as the aftershocks subsided, "let me feel you move."

He grinned, setting a pace that was maddening for the both of them. He knew how sensitive she was after she came, how she could feel him even more acutely, and he treasured the lustful, nonsensical cries that issued from her lips. He lost himself in the sound and the feel of her and his climax came upon him powerfully.

She wanted to see him, to hold him as he recovered, but he had come to favor remaining buried within her for as long as possible after they made love. She smiled. She had taught him that. She settled for speaking softly to him, twining her fingers through his where his hand rested on her abdomen.

"My love, I think it's safe to say that retirement suits you." He could hear the smile in her voice and he brushed his thumb against hers.

"Aye, lass," he answered, and she thought she could hear the twinkle in his eye. "But not quite as fittingly as you suit me."

"Flatterer," she teased. They fell silent for several moments, listening to the crackling of the fire and the sounds of their breathing, the pup's soft snores; sweet and simple sounds of a life shared.

As he slipped out of her they both bemoaned the loss, but Isobel rose and walked toward the bed, giving Richard a delightful view of her bare form as she retreated.

"Pick your jaw up off the floor and join me," she said with a satisfied smile as she turned back the covers.

He shook his head and grinned at her, coming around to his side of the bed. They climbed beneath the covers and he gathered her against his chest as he pulled the blankets over them.

"I love you, Isobel. You're my whole world," he whispered as she settled herself along the length of his body.

"Love you …" she answered. Sated and drowsy, she pressed a kiss over his heart as her eyes slipped shut.

This is the first night of the rest of my life, Richard thought, a smile gracing his lips as sleep claimed him.

On the evening of their retirement party, Isobel watched as Richard stood before the mirror buttoning his waistcoat. He fussed with the collar of his shirt and she grinned at him. He caught her staring and turned toward her with a hint of amusement on his face. "My discomfort is bringing you joy, is it? It's this infernal stiff collar. May need sutures before the night is through."

Her eyes crinkled in a smile and she stepped closer to him. "Luckily for you, your wife has very practiced hands when it comes to that," she teased. "Come here, I'll see what I can do."

She detached the collar from the shirt and retrieved a bottle from her vanity top. Dusting her fingertips with the white powder it contained, she applied them to his neck, taking care to cover every bit of skin the collar would touch.

The nearness of her was intoxicating to him and he held his breath as her gentle fingers moved over his carotid pulse. He brought a hand to her hip and she hummed appreciatively. She knew precisely what he was thinking.

She refastened the collar and buttoned it, slipping a finger between the garment and his skin to check her work. "There," she said, satisfied. "Now it won't chafe." She took up his white bow tie and brought it around his neck, tying it swiftly.

All the while he held perfectly still, a grin quirking at the corners of his mouth. "However did I manage to dress myself before you came along?" He couldn't resist ribbing her, but in truth he cherished moments like this; the fact that she loved him enough to concern herself with these details.

"The cheek on you!" She feigned annoyance but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her, and she pinned the lavender boutonnière to his lapel and stood back to assess his appearance.

"My, but you are dashing," she said with eyes full of sincerity. He caught her about the waist and pulled her in for a gentle kiss.

"Are we ready to go?" he asked as their lips parted.

She withdrew an item from her jewelry armoire and nodded at him. "Momentarily," she said. "Would you just? …" She held up the necklace he had given her on the eve of their wedding and he came up behind her.

"Ah, of course," he replied, taking it from her and bringing it around her neck. He fastened the clasp and pressed his lips to the soft, warm skin his fingers had just touched. She moaned softly, squirming a little.

"Mmmm, love … Later," she sighed. "Let's go." She turned in his arms and they shared one more lingering kiss before they made their way downstairs and into the car.

The Abbey was abuzz when they arrived. Carson greeted them at the door and escorted them to the drawing room.

"Good evening, Doctor Clarkson, Mrs. Clarkson. May I be the first to offer congratulations on your retirement?" The butler's air was genial and Isobel's curiosity was piqued.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," Richard replied. "I'm aware it was a bold move, but so far it's been a wise one."

"What about you, Carson? Have you ever given it any thought?" Isobel asked, deciding to test the waters with him just a little. She was attempting to discern from his demeanor whether there had been any progress made between he and Elsie.

He raised an eyebrow at the pair. "Retirement? Not on pain of death," he said, but while his tone was curt his eyes beheld the smallest hint of a smile.

Something has happened, Isobel thought, feeling giddy. She exchanged a knowing look with Richard as Carson took his leave of them.

Cocktails were served and soon Richard and Isobel were caught up in revelry with their family and friends. Cora embraced Isobel and the two began to discuss how well the party had come off. Tom and Richard spoke of cricket - Tom wanted to recruit Richard for the house team now that he was one of the family - and of little Sybbie, who had taken a particular shine to her grandfather.

Dinner was delicious and the conversation full of reverie as family members shared fond stories of how Richard had cared for them over the years. Edith related the story of the badly broken leg she had suffered at age ten when she'd fallen from a horse while learning to jump. Richard had distracted her from the pain of setting the break by telling the tale of Bride and Angus, the battle of the seasons. So enthralled was she with the story that she refused to let him leave her side until he finished its retelling. Mary told of the time when she had scarlet fever and Richard, concerned about her high fever, sat up all night with her as she soaked in ice baths, calming her with Scottish lullabies.

The meal concluded as Robert stood, flanked by Cora on one side and Violet on the other, and raised a toast to Richard and Isobel.

"As the Board of Directors we cannot begin to express our gratitude for the lives you've saved, the children who have grown to adulthood under your watchful eyes. We feel there is no more fitting a tribute than to dedicate the hospital in honor of you both."

At these words, in walked Doctor Burcham and Nurse Redfern, who came to stand with the Granthams. One of the footmen passed an object to Robert, who pulled back the cloth covering it to reveal an artist's rendering of a plaque bearing the name of the hospital … with both of theirs added to it. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Doctor Richard and Isobel Clarkson Downton Cottage Hospital!"

The table erupted in applause and Isobel glanced at Richard with tears in her eyes. They rose from their seats, embracing Robert, Violet, Cora and the young doctor and nurse. Richard was truly overwhelmed and finally began to comprehend the esteem in which he was held by the family to which he now belonged. Perhaps it was not the manner in which he would have chosen to come by belonging to a group of people, but for the very first time he began to see them as his people.

After dinner the nanny brought George and Sybbie in to join their grandparents. A musical group began to play traditional Scottish tunes and the servants were invited to come and listen. Tom stepped onto the dance floor with Sybbie in his arms, whirling and twirling her to the music as she erupted in a fit of giggles. She whispered something in Tom's ear and he nodded, setting her down with a peculiar grin on his face.

Sybbie approached Richard, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket. "Dance, Granddad?" she asked, all smiles and with big, innocent blue eyes.

"Now, who could refuse such an offer, lovely lass?" he answered, his eyes twinkling as he glanced at his wife and lifted his granddaughter into his arms. Isobel pressed a hand to her mouth as tears of joy sprang to her eyes. She had never loved him more.

Richard stood Sybbie atop his feet and held her hands as the musicians began a Scottish waltz. The ladies gathered to watch as grandfather and granddaughter danced and laughed with one another, the sweetness of the moment touching hearts around the room. Richard whispered something to Sybbie as the song concluded and she faced the assembly, attempting her best curtsy. Everyone applauded and Richard swung her into his arms as they left the dance floor.

Isobel approached the pair, baby George perched on her hip. "That was splendid, you two," she said. "Sybbie, you're a lovely dancer." She pressed a kiss to Richard's cheek. "And you were absolutely beautiful with her," she whispered. "You take my breath away."

When the children were off to bed, the musicians began to play a series of reels and the dance floor filled with family and servants alike. It warmed Isobel's heart to see all who had played significant roles in the lives of herself and her husband come together in celebration. She danced with Tom, the both of them laughing until their sides ached, and when the song was through she stepped to the back of the room for a drink, in need of refreshment.

It was then that she spotted Elsie, and as their eyes met Isobel could see a look of barely-contained excitement in her friend's eyes.

"Congratulations, Isobel. It's quite the lovely to-do you and Lady Grantham planned. And I heard about the dedication of the hospital. What an honor!"

"It is, and there's to be a formal ceremony in a month, making it official. I was rather taken aback by it all, considering that my last conversation with Robert and Violet centered around my foisting scandal upon the family's good name." Isobel rolled her eyes and the women shared a laugh. "But never mind all that! There's something you want to tell me, isn't there?"

Elsie glanced around them to verify that they hadn't drawn unwanted attention. She beckoned to Isobel and they stepped outside the doors to the drawing room, standing against the wall.

When she was certain of their privacy, Elsie spoke. "While the family were in London last week for Lady Rose's presentation, the staff spent a day at the seaside. Remember the day when you told me to watch for an opportunity to offer Mr. Carson the same steadying hand he has always extended to me?"

Isobel nodded, feeling giddy. Elsie stepped closer and clasped Isobel's hands in hers.

"I did it," she said simply, smiling brightly.

"You did?!" Isobel covered her mouth with her hand, understanding the need for discretion but barely able to contain her excitement.

Elsie nodded, nibbling her lip with nervous excitement.

"Oh, Elsie! That explains the look on his face! Oh, I can't stand it! You've dropped this bombshell and we can't even properly discuss it. You must come to me for tea and tell me everything. Will you?"

Elsie laughed at her friend's exuberance. "Of course. We'll work out the details later. You must get back to the party. But I want you to know you were right, and I'm ever so glad I took your advice."

"Elsie, your news has made my night! My friend, you won't be sorry! Love is magnificent at any age, but at our age … oh! Just you wait and see." The two women squeezed one another's hands and shared one more smile as they parted.

Back in the drawing room, the musicians had begun to play contemporary songs. Isobel spotted Richard dancing with Violet and felt for what seemed like the hundredth time that night like her heart could not contain all the joy she felt. She often thought that Violet gave utterance to many of the thoughts Richard had but would never dare speak forth. They were an odd pairing, but Isobel could see that they understood each other on many levels. For all that the older woman could cut her to the quick with just one word, Isobel valued Violet as one of her dearest friends, so the fact that she and Richard were growing closer meant a great deal to her.

The song changed and Isobel watched Richard kiss Violet's hand before placing it in Tom's. He made his way toward her and her heart began to beat faster.

"There you are, beauty. Where did you get to?" He offered her a drink but she declined.

"Tom convinced me to reel with him after the children went to bed and I needed a respite afterward. I caught sight of Elsie as I was getting a drink and she shared some news with me." Her eyes sparkled and Richard smiled.

"Is this news anything to do with Mr. Carson?" His curiosity delighted her.

"I don't know the details - she's going to come for tea and will tell me more then. But it would seem they've had a conversation about which she feels positively. Oh, Richard … What we have … I want it so badly for them!"

With a shake of his head he grinned at her, taking her hand. "Patience, Isobel. As much as you desire to play matchmaker in your free time, you must let the chips fall where they may."

She huffed at him, but she knew he was right. "Your pragmatism frustrates me, but you are very wise," she said.

"Save your frustration for when I've earned it and come dance with me." He led her to the center of the floor as the group began to play another song. He drew her close, clasping her hand over his heart as they moved to the music.

"Listen to the words, Isobel," Richard whispered against her temple. "They could have been written about you, love." He caressed the small of her back with his thumb as he held her and she lay her head against his chest.

Give me a smile, the love-light in your eyes  
Life could not hold a sweeter paradise  
Give me the right to love you all the while  
My world forever, the sunshine of your smile.

Shadows may fall across the land and sea  
Sunshine from all the world may hidden be  
But I shall see no clouds across the sun  
Your smile shall light my life till life is done.

The dance floor emptied of all but the honored couple and the guests gathered on the perimeters to watch as they swayed to the music, oblivious to the presence of anyone but the two of them. As Mary looked on she stifled a sob, tears filling her eyes. This song was one she and Matthew had danced to often, swaying to the music in their bedroom as the record played on his gramophone.

Mary's thoughts turned to Isobel. She had always had a fondness for the bull-headed, outspoken woman who had become her mother-in-law. In the wake of Matthew's death she and Isobel had sought refuge in the other's company and now Mary knew that Isobel's strength was borne of great loss, forged in deep darkness. Isobel had always held out hope for brighter days, and she had found them at long last in the arms of Richard Clarkson. Thanks to Isobel, Mary had begun to have hopes for her own future happiness.

Suddenly Mary knew what she needed to do, and she enlisted Carson's help to carry out her plan.

As the song came to an end, Richard lifted Isobel's chin and their eyes met. He had yet to demonstrate his affection for her in the presence of others, but now he tilted her head gently and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss filled with love and promise. They lingered for as long as propriety allowed and when their lips parted, Richard led Isobel off the floor and stood with her near the door.

The crowd was thinning out as the evening drew to a close and while he was grateful for all that had transpired, he was also spent. Isobel saw it in his eyes and wrapped an arm around his waist, kneading the tight muscles at the small of his back. They said goodbye to the guests as they filtered out and soon it was time for them to leave as well.

They stood in the foyer with Cora and Robert, thanking them for the lovely gathering and expressing their surprise at the renaming of the hospital. Just as they were about to leave, Mary appeared and with her was Carson … carrying Matthew's gramophone.

"Isobel, Richard, before you go … I saw you dancing tonight, and it brought back memories both treasured and painful for me." She looked away briefly and then continued.

"Matthew and I used to love that song. I … I want you to have this. Isobel, you've survived so much and if anyone was ever deserving of happiness, it's you. And Richard, your love has made Isobel whole again. The two of you have many more dances in your future …" She looked into Isobel's eyes and neither woman could contain the tears.

Mary's voice broke as she spoke the final words. "And if Matthew were here I know he would say the same."

Isobel swept Mary into her embrace. "Oh, my darling girl! What a gift you've given us. We will treasure it, of that you can be sure." She wiped away Mary's tears and kissed her cheek.

Richard nodded solemnly. "It will see much use, Mary. Thank you kindly."

When Richard and Carson had loaded the gramophone into the car, he and Isobel set off for the cottage. Upon their arrival she helped him into the house with it. They placed it near the piano in the sitting room, where there would be plenty of room to dance.

As they lay in bed that night, Richard and Isobel whispered to one another of their plans for the future and their joys of the present. Yes, it had taken tragedy to drive them into one another's arms, and they had lived long enough to know that they would walk through dark valleys again. But in the ashes they forged a love so strong that it brought them to their knees, a love that inspired the next generation to seek out beauty and truth. However many were the days on their horizon, they would spend them holding fast to one another and to the love that transcended time.


End file.
